Eye of Hel: Stories of the Nine Worlds (Ten Tears Chronicles - a dark fantasy action adventure Book 2)

by Alaric Longward

  I was in panic. In shock.

  Tiria was again grasping at powers; the elves were thick in a wall of shields and spears around the humans, and Ompar was screaming in helpless rage as he was being held on the ground. I looked at my friends. Anja was holding a hand over her mouth. Cherry was backing off, frowning. Ulrich was pushing Albine behind him, and Lex was trying to make his way to me, but an elf slammed him with a spear shaft.

  But Dana, she was grasping power. I saw it.

  She held a huge amount of deadly, fiery power, a storm of it, and she looked at me with a frown. She looked uncertain, and Cherry was pulling at her now. She pushed the shorthaired girl away and looked at me again, glowing with power, measuring me, thinking deep.

  I nodded. She sighed, and I pointed a finger at the enemy.

  Then she released the spell.

  Two elves had been standing before her. Their feathered helmets turned black as the wave-like wall of fire swept through them. Dana pushed more and more into the spell, strengthening the braid, the weave, adding more layers on top of each other and held on. The spell roared to a terrifying height, like a tidal wave of pure death. The elves had been advancing in a shieldwall for the survivors. There were a hundred of them, all gorgeously feathered, armored from head to toe, the proud lizard symbol emblazoned on their shields and tabards, but their discipline and glory broke as they witnessed the unexpected spell. The inferno ripped through them. An under officer raised his hands and screamed in horror, then fell on his back, his hair on fire from the heat, and then he burned to a crisp as the wave swept over him. Ranks of the enemy turned to run, but it was too late for most of them, and they were too thickly packed to be fast. The flames ate their hair hungrily, heated their armor, scorched them to the bone, and the stoic, handsome and proud, near immortal troops burned in brief, hellish conflagration. Spears turned to ash, metal heated into molten pools, screams of agony filled the yard, and dozens of enemy tottered away burning from the storm, which swept past them to slam like a wave on rocks against the tower, and some twenty archers turned to crisp heaps of dark bones and fell out of the fortress or on the parapets. A ballista was blazing fiercely. A burning flag flew away over the parapets.

  ‘The humans! They can all Embrace the Glory!’ Hannea screamed as she called a fiery energy guard around herself. Tiria turned to me, her face shocked. She had made a mistake; it was clear in the way her face went white with fear and anger. They had not even imagined a human would dare to attack them. And in her insolence and pride, she had not understood the Tears were maa’dark. Whoever told her about me, had omitted to make sure Tiria understood that the Tears were to be pacified early. Strife turned his dark metal mask towards us; the fire snake faltered in the air, and it also turned to look at us.

  And so I acted.

  I called first for the ice wall I had used in Euryale’s dungeon and in the ship. I gathered ice and frigid currents of the River Gjöll and its eight sisters, and then I weaved them together in a crude, wild way. I released all of it at Strife. Spears of ice grew around him and Hannea on the wall. Soldiers screamed as some spears impaled them, others jumped down the stairs, some fell to the courtyard. Hannea did. She was slipping, cursing, and then crying in panic, but inexorably she fell. It happened very fast, and I could not see what became of her. Strife fell on his back, cursing foully.

  Lex and Ulrich called for fire, the spell they had been brutally taught by Cosia on our second year. Thin whips of fire coiled from their hands, mesmerizing and deadly. Their faces were shocked to the core; both were licking their lips nervously. They found themselves suddenly in the middle of a terrible battle, and the guards near them blanched as they witnessed the deadly enemy aiming the weapons at them. The whips went up and came down and elves howled as arms and bits of face flesh were lopped off. Anja and Albine finally acted as well and called firewalls, the streaming, pulsating molten mass rushing for the surviving elves who were cautiously edging their way towards us. The spells ripped out thinly from their hands but ignited into wide, scorching flaming walls, leaving the enemy scrambling, some on fire. Arrows were still coming down at the crew of the Arch, but not too many, and I saw an elven officer screaming at the now shocked, remaining archers to fire at us. There were dozens of the elves alive, coming down hesitantly from the towers, holding shields, swords, and spears, at a loss for the disaster.

  Tiria was stumbling back from us.

  She stared at the terrible chaos and turned to look at Dana, and then she was weaving a spell again. Dana was exhausted by her efforts, her hair plastered to her forehead. I felt Tiria grasp at the horrible power of the lightning, weaving the spell so very fast, clearly aiming for Dana. She did it expertly, aided by decades and perhaps centuries of practice, and I could almost feel my hair standing inside my helmet. She aimed it at my friends; she held it for a moment, and then released it. The crackling noise filled the air.

  And I broke the spell.

  I saw it build in my mind and tore at the fine weave with my will. Tiria’s eyes turned my way as if she had guessed I had done such an incredible feat, and like my healing skill, it was likely a unique thing to be able to touch and fully see what another was doing with the power.

  The spell exploded out of her hands, but it was different. It was yellow, half ice, half lightning. It forked straight up to the sky with a huge boom, then came down and ripped Tiria in two bloodless, rock-hard halves that fell to the dust with a dull clang.

  ‘Kill them! Take the fort! Fight for your lives,’ Ompar yelled, apparently elated by the death of his sister. I looked at him from Tiria’s torn body, hoping the guards would not kill him, but he was holding his swords. The guards were dead or dying as the pirate had pulled daggers from his boots and left them embedded in the flesh of the elves. ‘Take the fort!’ he yelled again, and I heard a hoarse, terrified scream as the less than thirty crewmembers charged the disorganized elves. I saw their faces, every instinct telling them not to attack their master’s troops, but there was another instinct that was far stronger than that, and that was survival.

  ‘Help them!’ I screamed at the Ten Tears, and they did. We spread across the courtyard. Lex and Ulrich guarded us with their whips and the rest of them called for spells of fire. Fiery walls spread left and right, and the lessons of endurance and accuracy came in handy. Elves were scrambling from the towers to reject us, but they were burned and routed by magic and sword and spear. The captain of the archers led a serious effort to butcher us. They gathered up to the south wall. There were fifteen of them. Arrows rained down as they ran to group up. One reached for me but fell aside. Charm Breaker. It deflected missiles as well. Albine shrieked in pain and held her side that had been grazed, and Ulrich howled as an arrow pierced his thigh. Dana took a tentative, exhausted step forward, but Albine ran out instead with a maniac look on her dark face, dodging an arrow uncannily. The crew was herding some ten elves into a corner, slaying them one by one, but Albine was looking at the archers. One man ran to guard her with a large shield, and it was soon riddled with arrows as the elves saw the threat coming. The man shrieked as his arm was pierced, and then he was hit in the thigh and an artery as he fell and bled profusely.

  But it had been enough, as Albine gathered her own special mix of fires.

  Wind buffeted the yard, throwing our hair around our heads, and corpses slithered in their piles and discarded gear flew around crazily. Then she released the spell at the parapets. The mortar cracked, moss smoldered and blackened. The mass of archers screamed as they sailed into the sky on a fiercely hot wind, meat ripping from their bones. The rest blanched and ran off, fleeing the fort.

  Fire. Fire was the weapon of the Tears, and what they had, they knew how to use. Cosia had been right. Only skill in using the few they knew and endurance truly mattered.

  I looked up to the Strife. The tall masked elf was being picked up by some six elves in dark armor and most all were holding swords and glittering spears and halberds. The enemy was sho
cked and stunned; they were all slipping on my ice, but the deadly enemy was very much alive. Someone pulled at me.

  I pushed the figure away, then relaxed. It was Ompar. ‘Here,’ he said and pushed a long sword into my hand. ‘We must take them.’ He nodded to the top and ran for a doorway of a small tower. ‘Come on. And be careful. This is my chance of finally being rid of that piece of ugly gristle.’

  And I followed him.

  He rushed into the doorway. It was a guardroom, but there was nobody in there. He ripped open the next doorway, dodged as a confused elf warrior came out and slid his sword into the elf’s throat. He did not seem to give it more thought than he would to cutting bread and ran up the stairway, and still I went after him. ‘Can we get to your ship?’ I panted.

  ‘Not with him on top,’ he growled. ‘Strife is dangerous. You saw his spells. The ships have charms that help with fire spells, but he can just bore holes in the hull with the Bone Seeker. Those things on his hands and face will never tire. Careful!’ he yelled, and I heard a clash of steel on the stairs. Two elves had rushed him and were pushing their swords at him. There was a clang as one stumbled past Ompar, who was moving like a wraith. His stabs were parried, but his other sword was already coming, but not for the elf in front of him. He jumped back and slashed the neck of the elf that had stumbled past him. The warrior fell and rolled past me, shock and pain clear on his face. Ompar went into a furious attack. His blades slapped and clanged and danced, and the elf facing him roared and took hits. Sparks flew from armor and blade as Ompar pushed up the stairs. The elf tried to attack in a desperate rage, his beautiful face full of suicidal determination, but Ompar’s swords slapped his sword aside, and he punched the elf in the throat. The fighter flopped on his back motionless.

  Up the stairs, we could see the door to the rampart.

  A shadow filled it. Many shadows, flickering in the light of Mar.

  ‘Brother,’ hissed Strife. From his hand grew fire again. It took on a sword-like shape, and he pointed it at Ompar. I could not break the spell. It was impossible. There was no weave, nothing I could see; just something that was. The smell of fire and smoke filled the stairway. ‘Kill him. Get her,’ Strife said. The evil looking mask was glittering as the fire burned in his hand, and then elves with tall halberds pushed in.

  Ompar fought. He was a champion, swift as a snake and a silent killer who gave the battle his all. His eyes were smoldering as he charged the enemy. He slipped past a halberd, another grazed his back, but he was near the two elves holding the weapons. Three more ran for him, drawing shorter weapons, hoping to save the already embattled elves. Strife was hovering at the doorway. I saw a flash of blades. Blood spattered the floor; there were screams and cries as the champion Ompar slashed, punched, and twisted the blades masterfully in the press of bodies. An elf fell. Then another, face split. Ompar yelled a challenge. ‘Come down, dark heart, here!’ He laughed as his short blade stabbed at an elf who had slipped in the blood. He rolled down the stairs, his chain armor rent and punctured. Two elves backed off, and I came up, cautiously, as Ompar was trying to catch his breath. Strife took a step forward. He aimed the fiery blade down at us.

  Ompar looked down at me, his look resigned.

  I ran up, felt the Charm Breaker under the cloak, and grasped Ompar to me.

  The fiery sword changed into a snake and fled Strife’s hand. It weaved its way down the steps so very fast, burning and melting the corpses on its way like they were snow. I gritted my teeth and begged to the gods we would survive the thing. ‘Embrace it, you two,’ Strife laughed. ‘I hope you can heal yourself after this, Hand. Come here.’ The fiery thing stretched into a rope-thin creature of flames and shot and wrapped around my legs, hoping to slay Ompar and to pull me to the elf maa’dark.

  The shield thrummed strangely as the snake touched me.

  Then it disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  Strife took a disbelieving, uncertain step forward.

  ‘Rub your eyes, brother,’ Ompar said with glee. ‘Perhaps you will find the snake? But you did find the Charm Breaker, after all!’

  ‘My turn,’ I whispered. I collected the spell I had learned in Euryale’s dungeons while helping our poor lost giant, Thak. The giant had been hurt by the spell, but now it would hurt the elves above us. I twisted the cruel, shallow ice and freezing currents and filled the area above with the spell’s power. I felt it tingle in the stairs beneath our feet, and then the stone cracked. Ice hands thrust up from the floor, and then they tore at the men. Strife fell back, in terror, spewing flames at us in short bursts. The shield sucked it all in, and I laughed at him spitefully. ‘Come down, you damned pixie!’ I yelled. The two soldiers tried to flee. The icy claws clamped into their boot armor, and they fell amidst a field of such things. They shrieked once and then shuddered as the hands tore off meat and armor and kept gouging relentlessly.

  ‘Pixie?’ Ompar breathed.

  ‘Never mind,’ I hissed. ‘He escapes.’

  ‘Let go of the spell,’ Ompar said with a steely edge to his voice. ‘I need to get him. But well done—’ He cursed and dodged behind me and my shield as Strife let go of a huge, dangerous spell full of fire in the form of a winged serpent that shattered against the wall next to us. Bitter sharp shards of rock flew; Ompar hissed in pain as his face was slashed.

  ‘You OK?’ I asked him and let the ice hands go. The dead elves settled on the ground with meaty thuds. The mad maa’dark was staring down at us and then got ready to leave as Ompar strode forward.

  ‘I’ll have you both under my fists soon enough,’ Strife laughed. ‘Like I did her. Your wife. How she begged! It was her dying wish to see you. But she saw this mask instead.’ He tapped the mask and dodged away from sight. Ompar went up with a wild curse, so fast I could barely comprehend it. He disappeared into the shadows above, near the door to the rampart, still cursing. and I guessed he would be beyond caring for his own life. I started after him, but he was so fast, lithe as a cat. He reached the door, looked out and dodged back inside as a sword thrust through the doorway. A fiery sword. Ompar rolled past the doorway, and there was a warning shout. An elf guard fell across the doorway, his helmet rolling from his head.

  ‘Go!’ Lex yelled behind me. ‘The courtyard is ours. But we have to hurry!’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said and struggled past the bodies.

  ‘He seems handy with the blade,’ Lex puffed as he ran, holding his side that was bleeding. He saw my look. ‘Nothing serious, I think. Unless they poison the arrows.’

  ‘I’ll heal you in a bit,’ I told him. ‘He is a damned idiot fool who cannot defend against magic. He might die.’ We reached the doorway and saw a dance of blades.

  Strife had a saber and the fire sword. The latter was dangerous but also slow. He used the saber to parry Ompar’s fierce attacks, then tried to lock my friend against a crenellation to scorch him as the fiery blade was coming for him from many directions, spewing licks of fire. Ompar dodged under the saber and the flames, slashed at the armored legs of the enemy. The saber thrust down, and then the enemy had to dodge again as Ompar hit him in the chest, drawing blood from his chain-covered torso. Strife cursed, and the gauntlets hissed, and smoke rose from them. They turned cherry red, the hilt of the saber apparently burned under his grip, and then Strife went into a frenzied attack. The fire sword thrust from the left, then from the right. Strife was also concentrating on the fire spell, little heeding the swords of Ompar. Ompar wounded him in the neck, and so Strife likely decided the fire sword was useless. The sword disappeared; a snake of molten fire was slithering on the ground, a living thing as the champion held his sabre two handed. The snake struck at Ompar, but Ompar rolled away. He was not fast enough as the thing’s fangs touched his back and left his armor smoking. The saber stabbed, albeit unsteadily as Strife chased after Ompar. My friend came back with a double thrust at Strife’s belly that again drew blood. Ompar was trying to push the swords through the momentarily shocked enemy, but the sa
ber flashed, and Ompar dodged back but could not dodge too far back as the infernal thing had slithered behind him. He cursed, but he was fast, he rolled away from the fire thing and hoped to roll past Strife.

  And Strife dropped the saber, released the spell and reached out with glowing gauntlets. Ompar rolled into a grip of hot molten death that grabbed his side. He shrieked, terribly, horribly, like an animal. Armor melted and flew in liquid metal spatters. Flesh was charred in his side as he fell away. The gauntlet went up again, smoldering, and Strife came for him.

  Lex ran forward, brandishing a thin fiery whip. I rushed after him, forgetting my powers.

  Ompar’s eyes met mine. ‘Take care, love,’ he gasped.

  Lex faltered at that.

  He hesitated, and Strife took the opportunity like a merciless hunter. The gauntlet stabbed down, and Ompar grunted as the fingers entered his chest through the brilliant armor. ‘No!’ I shrieked and ran forward. I pushed Lex out of the way, noticed the shocked look on his face, and struck my blade down with all my might at Strife. It hit the iron mask, hard, very hard, and the elf flew back towards the edge, spitting blood in an arch. He stumbled there, and Lex moved, finally. The fiery whip slapped down at Strife, but the enemy managed to grasp it with his gauntlet, though the end of the whip flashed across Strife’s chest, opening up armor and flesh. He howled, hesitated, and fell back, his cloak flapping in the air as he fell from the wall.