Dawnbringer

by Gregory Mattix

  “I’m a damn fool. Their master must’ve silenced their approach with magic so as to take us unawares.” Nera glanced around at her companions. “Into the water!”

  At that moment, the demons struck.

  ***

  “Stand close!” Malek ordered. “Keep them back while I concentrate.”

  Not knowing how deep the swirling lake was, he didn’t want to take the chance that they would be dragged down to their deaths, especially those wearing heavy armor, or brought down by their pursuers while trying to wade through the muck.

  He drew some power from the containment gem mounted on his staff, molding it into a large disc of force.

  The demons began spilling over the cliff, their scaly forms landing on the soft fleshy ground without injury. A spear sailed past Malek’s head. A second was deflected by Idrimel’s shield.

  “Get out of here! I’ll hold ‘em!” Waresh bellowed. He hacked at the first to charge down to the waterline.

  Wyat and his men formed a defensive line with Waresh. A few men got the chance to loose arrows, but they seemed to have little effect against the laksaar’s scales. The fiends rushed at them in bounding leaps, snarling and howling for blood. Wyat cleaved the arm off one of them then drove his sword through another’s neck.

  A thundering boom shook the area as Yosrick slammed his hammer against his shield, runes blazing on the latter. The rush of fiends was halted, many of them momentarily stunned by the blast.

  Waresh tore into their ranks, axe hacking through them with ease. Wyat and Lumley pressed forward to either side of the dwarf, cutting down the first rank of demons. Arron and Rand slashed and stabbed at the flanks, holding off the few that made it past the others. Jannik gave a war cry, his flail whirling overhead, its head glowing red with magic. He brought it down atop a stunned fiend’s head, smashing it into pulp. He spun and unleashed another strike, crushing another’s chest and driving it into the fiends behind.

  A voice boomed out in the fell speech, the words stabbing at the companions’ ears like knives. The three-headed fiend, Xavulak, from Nera’s description, stood atop the cliff above, hands raised as he worked his magic.

  Malek gave a startled oath at the sight of the hideous creature. He hurriedly stepped onto the disc of force, urging Nera and Endira beside him, and not a moment too soon.

  The ground beneath those remaining on the shore bubbled and turned into a sludge, sinking the warriors to their knees. Waresh and Yosrick were up to their waists in the thick muck. Oaths of surprise rang out as they struggled to free themselves. The remaining fiends pressed the attack, moving without difficulty atop the deep mud like water insects skimming across the surface of a pond. Tomlin cried out as two fiends bore him down, their claws and teeth rending at him as he went under the water, which churned and became a darker crimson.

  Wyat bellowed in anger, struggling to reach Tomlin, but he had his hands full trying to stay upright while fending off his own pair of laksaar.

  “Back, now!” Malek cried. He felt helpless, unable to join the battle, forced to concentrate on maintaining his spell.

  Idrimel and Yosrick gained the disc, and they helped Nera pull the others up. Seeing the warriors unable to get clear, Endira focused her energy, and Malek could feel a rush of power as a yellow nimbus formed around her head.

  Arron was suddenly yanked out of the mud, then Rand. The pair landed neatly on their feet upon the disc. Their surprise was short-lived, and they swiftly drew their bows and loosed arrows, covering the retreat of Wyat and Lumley, who slogged out of the mud and gained the platform.

  Jannik floundered to free himself, a laksaar sinking its talons into his mail just above the backplate. The priest of Anhur was about to be dragged down when Waresh was there. Heartsbane cleaved the laksaar nearly in half at the waist.

  A demon leapt at Waresh’s back, but Arron’s arrow took it in the throat, and it spun away. Endira was able to lift the priest free. Lumley grabbed Jannik’s arm and steadied him when he wobbled at the edge, nearly losing his balance.

  Malek sent the disc smoothly sailing forward over the swirling bloody water while everyone caught their breath for a moment.

  “Wait! I changed me mind!” Waresh waved at them wildly, waist-deep in mud. Another rank of laksaar was bounding down the shore.

  Malek stopped the disc, but they were now twenty paces from shore.

  “I have him,” Endira said.

  Waresh abruptly shot out of the mud as if loosed from a catapult, arms waving wildly. He nearly dropped his axe in surprise but just managed to catch onto the end of the haft. He came arcing down and landed heavily on the disc, arms pinwheeling and forcing Rand to dodge aside to avoid the blade of his axe.

  “Welcome aboard, mate,” Lumley teased.

  Waresh’s curse was enough to turn Idrimel’s face bright red, Malek noted with a grin. He swiftly sped up the disc again until it was skimming rapidly over the surface of the lake. The laksaar rapidly shrank behind them.

  “Damn it. I couldn’t get to Tomlin,” Wyat growled in frustration. “Another good man lost.”

  Nobody had any reply to that, watching grimly as they approached the center of the vortex, each hoping they would survive what came next.

  Malek halted the disc just above the center of the maelstrom. Blood-red water roared, churning into a froth and disappearing into a black pit. The volume of liquid disappearing every second was tremendous, yet the lake never emptied. Such was one of the paradoxes of the Abyss.

  “Best be gone from here,” Arron warned, pointing behind them.

  Xavulak was visible, standing on the shore where they had fought moments before, his baleful glare felt by all.

  “Let us hope that one remains in his demesne here,” Yosrick muttered.

  “All right, everyone off before that fiend gets any ideas,” Nera said.

  Arron took a deep breath and stepped off the disc. He disappeared out of sight, the frothy crimson water closing over his head as he was sucked downward.

  Malek watched as the others murmured prayers or simply held their breaths and stepped over. Nera grasped his hand tightly, licking her lips nervously.

  “Let’s go.”

  Malek dispelled the disc, sending the two of them plunging into the churning water. A moment of panic threatened to overcome him as he was pulled under, then he knew only darkness.

  Chapter 11

  Waresh awoke with a start, drenched in sweat as if he’d fallen asleep in a forge. He glanced around puzzled, trying to figure out where he was. His gut suddenly roiled as if he’d swallowed one of those disgusting eels he’d seen in the market and the creature was still alive. He rolled over and vomited noisily on the stony ground. His memory returned at the sight of the red-tinged liquid.

  I must’ve swallowed half that thrice-damned lake. He shuddered at reliving the experience of total helplessness as he was dragged by the current into the vortex and beneath the surface of that foul water. No self-respecting dwarf he knew would jump into a body of water—even a calm, pure one—of their own volition.

  Except Tarni. She always liked to swim in the underground lake. But then, she never was a “normal” dwarf. She was slim instead of stocky, deliberate instead of impulsive. And she always put up with me nonsense. He snorted at the memory, saddened he hadn’t thought of her lately. The previous few times she’d appeared, she’d seemed surprisingly real, as if actually speaking to him from Reiktir’s hall, calming his mind from the bluster stirred up by Heartsbane.

  Where in the bloody Abyss are we? The thought of Heartsbane made him remember the danger they had been in. Perhaps still are if that ugly three-headed bastard took it into his heads to come after us.

  Waresh surged to his feet, which was a mistake, for he felt woozy. Leaning over with hands on knees, he retched again until his stomach finally settled. He fumbled for his waterskin, to wash out the taste of filth and bile—that, and his throat was parched from the heat. After a long swig of water, he felt bet
ter, although the water was warm. He removed his helm, poured some water over his head, and looked around.

  He was in an underground chamber, lit by a soft orange glow reflected on the ceiling. About a hundred paces away, a lake of magma steamed and occasionally bubbled.

  Endira lay a few feet away, and he was relieved to find the rest of his companions lying scattered nearby on the ground, their wet clothes steaming from the heat.

  “Oi, elf, wake up.” He nudged Endira’s foot with the toe of his boot.

  She stirred and sat up, looking around in confusion.

  “Better go—those fiends might still come after us.” He slung Heartsbane on his back and went to find Nera.

  She was already stirring when he came to her. He helped her to her feet, and she nodded her thanks.

  “It’s as hot as Reiktir’s furnace in here,” he grumbled, mopping his brow.

  “I think it’s quite pleasant, actually. Thought all dwarves were at home working in the forge,” she teased.

  “Huh. Just like all plane-cursed are good-for-nothing thieves,” he retorted.

  “Good for getting us in a heap o’ shite, perhaps,” Nera replied with a wan smile before turning her attention to their surroundings. “Are we in a bloody volcano?”

  By that point, everyone had been roused. Waresh was pleased to note he wasn’t the only one who had swallowed lake water, from the sounds of retching he heard.

  “Aye, so it would appear. I suggest we don’t lollygag about, lest that three-headed arsehole comes looking for us,” he warned.

  Nera nodded grimly. “See if you can’t find us a way out of here while everyone gets back on their feet.”

  “Already found one,” he said sticking his thumbs in his belt.

  Nera raised an eyebrow dubiously as she looked around. “You found one while you were standing there blathering to me?”

  “What, can’t ye feel the draft coming from yonder?” He pointed to a small tunnel on the opposite end of the cavern from the magma pool.

  “How’d you do that?”

  “All dwarves might not be at home working the forge, but we sure as hell are at home living underground. Even the wee ones can tell direction by following a draft.” He gave her a satisfied smirk.

  ***

  The dwarf was right, Nera admitted as she stepped out from the tunnel under an orange-red sky.

  The air stank of sulfur, and lightning, a disquieting green color, crackled in distant thunderheads. The cones of volcanos sprouted from the ground like anthills in the distance. The land was broken and cracked, torn apart into great chasms running across the earth like black rivers of nothingness.

  They emerged from the tunnel on the side of the volcano they’d awakened within, thankful it wasn’t currently active, but that couldn’t be said of some of the others. Lava glowed bright orange in the distance.

  At first, Nera thought they had made it to Achronia, but then she realized the Wall of Lost Souls wasn’t anywhere in sight. It purportedly stretched from one end of Achronia to the other.

  Perhaps not, but judging from this hellish landscape, we must be getting closer.

  The companions made their way down the steep side of the volcano. Waresh showed them how to keep to the ridges of black rock that had formed from cooled lava, as its rough texture provided stable footing.

  They walked for a couple hours, reaching the bottom of the slope and traveling along the dried rocky ground. Another volcano cone rose up in the distance ahead, but before that lay a network of chasms where the ground had split apart.

  Idrimel abruptly stopped, frozen in place. Nera stopped beside her, about to ask what troubled her, when the priestess slowly turned around, gazing back behind them. She gasped in alarm and clutched her holy symbol. Her finger trembled as she pointed.

  Dark shapes were streaming down the ridge of dried lava they had traversed a short time earlier. The horde of laksaar moved in bounding leaps, often going down to all four limbs, which seemed to increase their speed.

  And in the midst of them, covering four to five paces with each leaping stride, came Xavulak in all his terrible majesty.

  Cries and oaths of dismay surrounded Nera as her companions took note. All she could think of was to try to outrun the pursuit and perhaps either find somewhere to hide or cause the fiends to lose their trail among the chasms.

  “We run!” she cried. “Move swiftly! If we can’t outrun them, then look for a defensible place to stand our ground.”

  The already-weary companions were forced to flee yet again, the horde of fiends still on their trail.

  They ran for what felt like hours but she knew had to be much less, by the time they had to slow their pace. A cramp had knotted in her side, and everyone was gasping for breath. Malek, especially, concerned her—his face was pale and sweaty, and he stood with hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. He hadn’t fully recovered from his ordeal in the Gray Lands.

  They had made it to the bottom of a long, rocky slope and were pausing beside a massive chasm that yawned to their right. Stinking, sulfurous vapors occasionally emanated from the fissure.

  At the top of the slope, the demons paused, likely toying with them, enjoying the hunt.

  The terrifying fiend, Xavulak, pushed to the front of the pack, giving Nera a good glimpse of him. He indeed stood twice the height of a man, gray-skinned and muscular, with long, powerful arms. His red eyes glared at them balefully from a goat-like face with a maw of sharp teeth. While she had thought previously the beast had three heads, now she could see he had just the one head with two tarred severed heads impaled on his long horns, making him look three-headed. The tarred heads were from humanoid creatures, their features indeterminate from decay—all she could distinguish was the look of terror and agony frozen upon their countenances in death. A massive flail that likely weighed as much as she did was clutched in one of the fiend’s powerful hands, its knobbed head the size of Yosrick. The smaller fiends milled anxiously around, only waist-high to their master.

  “A vezarun!” Yosrick cried in horror. “A fiend of great power—this Xavulak is likely the ruler of all of Cymrych.”

  Even Nera had heard of vezaruns—greater demons legendary for their power and cruelty. “We don’t stand a chance against them.” Nera frowned, guessing there to be around two score laksaar in addition to Xavulak.

  “These are beyond us,” Arron warned. “We must try to outrun them.”

  They all knew further flight was futile. After having run for what seemed like several miles, the horde had only gained on them until it was only a few hundred paces distant.

  Resigned to more running, the companions turned and resumed their flight beside the chasm. A moment later, the bloodcurdling howls and roars reached their ears as the demons resumed pursuit.

  Ahead, the chasm curled to the left, and an exhausted Nera wondered if they’d get cut off by the rift. She wished the Wall of Lost Souls would suddenly appear and they would find the Engineer so they could go home and leave this nightmare behind.

  “That way!” Wyat pointed to a finger of land in the distance that arched out over the chasm. “Looks like we can cross there. It should be narrow enough to hold them off if we can. If not, hopefully, we can lose them on the other side.”

  Not likely to be so easy, if we make it even that far. A quick glance at their gaining pursuers convinced her they wouldn’t.

  “Go! We’ll hold them off!” Arron shouted, turning to face the horde. Already, he had nocked and loosed an arrow. Wyat’s remaining men fired into the horde as well. A couple laksaar dropped, the arrows finding softer spots in their hides less protected by the scales. They were quickly trampled by their ilk.

  Nera grabbed Arron’s arm. “Nobody gets left behind!” She tried to pull him along. The half-elf briefly resisted, but stepped back a few paces, nocking another arrow.

  “No time to argue, Nera! You must survive this for Nexus’s sake!” He loosed another arrow.

  “Nera!
Come on!” Malek waited a few paces away, beckoning urgently.

  She hesitated a moment, indecisive as the horde approached. The smaller demons grunted and howled, some bearing crude spears, others with nothing but their sharp claws and teeth. The vezarun stood back for a moment, watching as its minions closed on them.

  “I’ll be right behind you.” Arron retreated a few steps then swiftly nocked and fired another arrow at the horde, only ten paces away. Wyat’s men fell back, desperately trying to ready one last arrow.

  She knew they were right, but she cursed. “You better be, damn it!”

  Then she was running. Malek loosed a blast of force into the ranks of the demons, tossing half a dozen or so aside like children’s toys, buying the others some time. Nera caught up to him, and they ran side by side. Wyat stood at the base of the land bridge across the chasm. The big man waved Idrimel then Nera and Malek past.

  “Keep going, lass. We’ll cover Arron and the others.” His face was grim.

  Nera made her way out onto the land bridge before pausing to glance back over her shoulder. Waresh and Yosrick had joined Wyat, stopping beside him, intending to hold the bridge. Farther away, the retreating defenders were still engaged with the smaller demons. Steel flashed among the swarming mass of fighting. She gasped, seeing the massive vezarun wading in to join the battle.

  Xavulak wound up his mighty flail and slung it with a sideways motion. The soldier Raik wasn’t quick enough to dodge, and the weapon launched him like a ballista bolt. The man couldn’t even cry out—his chest was pulverized, any breath blasted from his lungs. His body fell broken ten paces away.

  Nera cursed, feeling powerless as she watched Arron spin away, sword and dagger lashing out. Lumley decapitated one of the demons with a swift hack of his broadsword. The other soldiers pushed forward, forming a defensive line for a moment, giving the pair time to retreat, but they were being pressed dangerously close to the chasm.