Nesnys screamed in rage. “Nooo! This cannot be—I will not fall to a weak-blooded plane-cursed!” Blood dribbled down her side from the wound. She snapped Willbreaker, and the teeth separated into a whip again.
A swipe cracked over Nera’s head as she ducked. Another nearly snared her leg, but she leapt away. Nesnys screamed curses in the fell speech as she went berserk, the lash a blur of fiery energy as it crackled through the air.
While desperately evading, Nera got too close to the side of the spire. Stone crumbled and fell away beneath her heels. She leaned forward and regained her balance, but unfortunately that took her right into Nesnys’s lash.
Willbreaker wrapped around Nera’s left forearm. The teeth bit in and tightened as Nesnys yanked on the whip. Nera cried out as she was dragged forward, falling onto her stomach. The teeth dug into her flesh, and blood flowed down her arm.
Nesnys gave a mighty heave on Willbreaker. The agony ripping through Nera’s arm intensified, and she watched in horror as the whip constricted and severed her forearm. Blood spurted, and her hand and wrist fell away to the ground. Bedlam Judge clattered away on the blood-slicked stone.
“Oh gods, it can’t end like this,” Nera gasped. She rolled over onto her back, clutching the stump of her arm to her chest, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood. Within an instant, more blood than she believed would’ve been possible covered her, pooling on her stomach and making her free hand slick.
Nesnys approached, her boots clanking on the stone beneath them. She stared down at Nera, her silver eyes expressionless coins—Nera could see her own face reflected in them. The wound in Nesnys’s side had blackened from Bedlam Judge’s corruption, veins of blight spreading up around her shoulder and down her flank. Where the black veins traveled, the scales fell away, leaving her tattooed flesh to blacken from the corruption.
“Seems we have slain each other, Sister. A fitting end—you turned out to be a worthy opponent after all.” Nesnys bowed her head briefly in respect. She sheathed Willbreaker, its teeth pouring into the scabbard like a child’s overturned sack of marbles.
Nesnys blurred and disappeared, teleporting away.
Nera sighed, letting her head fall back onto the stone. The rock felt warm even as her limbs turned to ice.
I’ve failed you, Sabyl. Please let the others escape from this wretched pit of evil. Give Malek my love.
Then blackness overtook her like a soft veil.
***
Malek needed but a minute to locate Nera and Nesnys. The two women’s auras burned brightly in his second sight—Nera’s a pale blue, and Nesnys’s a deep red. The women were battling atop the spire of black stone perhaps a mile away.
Gathering the others around, he formed another disc of force beneath them. They sailed up into the sky, the warriors’ faces going pale and eyes darting nervously around. Waresh made the mistake of looking straight down through the translucent disc to the ground far below. He cursed and gripped Malek’s arm with bruising force.
Malek grimaced and tried to pry the dwarf’s fingers loose, but his grip was like a band of steel clamped over his arm. He had opened his mouth to ask him to let go when he saw the scene atop the spire.
The sight chilled him to the bone, and he forgot about the dwarf’s painful grip.
Nera lay on her back in a pool of blood. Nesnys was nowhere to be seen, but from the severed wing and tremendous amount of blood covering the stone, he surmised that she hadn’t escaped without a heavy cost herself.
“Oh, gods—Nera!” He dispelled the disc when they were barely atop the spire. He dropped to the ground and ran to Nera’s side, scarcely noticing his companions’ curses as they stumbled and fell from the unexpected disappearance of the disc.
Malek slid to his knees in the pool of blood, which was beginning to congeal. Nera’s face was pale and her skin cold when he touched her forehead. A shocking amount of blood covered the slick black stone, and her grievous wound was ragged, as if her arm had simply been torn off. Her severed hand and wrist lay a short distance away.
“Nera, stay with me!” He moved around until he was able to gently place her head in his lap.
She didn’t respond, and no breath passed her lips. Tears ran down his cheeks as he looked upon her face. Her eyes were closed, and she looked peaceful.
He thought to try to heal her himself by channeling vitality into the thief. The problem was, there was no vitality in the Abyss, save for himself and his companions. The denizens residing there had a tainted vitality, which he somehow knew would be toxic to him, like when he’d tried to use negative energy. He would’ve made the attempt in a heartbeat, but no demons were to be found right then. Even if he did somehow manage to channel vitality into her, his skills were crude, like using a broadsword rather than a scalpel. Then he remembered they had a priest among them.
He glanced around for Jannik. The others were staring at the scene in shock and anguish. The priest had held back a respectful distance, but at Malek’s look, he hurried forward.
“Please do what you can for her.”
Without a word, Jannik knelt over Nera, gently taking her bloody stump in his hands. He invoked his most powerful spell of healing. The priest’s hands took on a blue glow, and as Malek watched, the flesh knit, blood vessels closed, and the ragged splinter of bone smoothed out and rounded off. The skin closed over and sealed off the wound. The lesser wounds on her stomach, ribs, back, and legs closed up, leaving pale scars.
When it was done, the priest let her arm go and took a long, unsteady breath. “I am sorry, Malek. I have done what I can for her. The Abyss is the Dark One’s realm. His will occludes Anhur’s power. Even had that not been so, I don’t know that I have the necessary skill to invoke a healing spell powerful enough to regenerate her arm.”
Despite the healing, Nera’s face retained its pallor, and she no longer drew breath. Her body remained still, her heart no longer pumping blood.
Malek closed his eyes, trying to fight back the crushing sorrow. He noticed with his second sight that she appeared as she had in life, her aura powerful with her own inner well of mana. “And what of her condition? It is as if she is dead, yet I sense her aura is as powerful as ever.”
“I know not, but I, too, sense she has not let go yet. Perhaps her will to cling to life is too strong, and her work as Sabyl’s Chosen is not yet complete. Were Idrimel here, she could likely tell you more, perhaps even make her whole again.”
Malek nodded, stroking Nera’s cheeks. “Fret not, Jannik, you’ve surely saved her life. I will not give up on her and lose her, especially in such a vile place as this.”
He sat there for a long time, holding Nera, gently stroking her cheeks with his fingers, wishing her back to consciousness. But his silent pleas were no use—she remained as she had been: dead yet somehow not dead.
How can you ask one to give so much? he silently asked the gods. How many times must she give her life for us… for me? And yet you won’t let her go to the afterlife in peace! How can you treat your Chosen so poorly?
A hand on his shoulder broke his reverie. Yosrick knelt down beside him, his visor raised and face filled with sorrow. “Lad, there’s nothing more we can do for her now. Her life is in the hands of her god.”
Malek nodded. He didn’t want to leave, as if afraid if he let go of her, her aura would fade and she’d be truly gone.
“We have the living to think about now. We can fashion a litter for her—I’ll be damned if we leave her here.”
“You’re right, my friend.” Malek let out a deep breath and gently placed Nera’s head back on the ground. He stood up, groaning at his sore back and stiff knees. “What shall we do?”
“This won’t be easy, but we knew this wouldn’t be when we signed up, aye?” When Malek simply nodded, he continued, “The way I figure it is we have two options, neither good. The first is to try to find where they will be staging the hordes for when the Engineer opens the portals to Nexus. The legions will e
nter the portals, and perhaps we can sneak through as well. Aye, I know, that’s why I said neither is a good option.”
“And the second?”
“The tome speaks of a lost portal, created well before Nexus, but later sealed off by the god Marakesh and rendered inactive.”
“Where is it? And how can we open it?”
“Those are the unknowns. Perhaps we can find a fiend to question, but it wouldn’t be likely to tell us without compelling it somehow. As to the second question, I’ve no idea. Let us hope the gods send some good fortune our way for a change.”
“As you said, no good options. The former option has a greater chance of success, minuscule as that might be. Let us figure out a way to transport her and see what comes after that.”
He looked off into the stormy distance and the iron citadel hovering ominously in the sky. He wondered if, even now, the Engineer was using the bracer to get to Nexus and open the portals to the Abyss.
Chapter 20
“Get back, you!” Traven shoved the man back with his shield, sending him tumbling into a heap of garbage in the street.
The man had rushed out of an alley toward Traven’s squad, and he’d turned just in time to find the wild-eyed thug upon them. He looked rough, with tattoos on his arms and scars on his face, yet he was clearly terrified of something, eyes wide with fear.
“Demons! In the damned streets,” the man muttered then regained his feet. He slipped on some rotten vegetable matter before he got his footing and ran off.
“What got into that bloody arsehole?” asked Adelard, Traven’s friend and fellow Watchman.
Traven shook his head, not knowing what to think. Ever since that fateful night when he had stood watch at the prison, his life had changed, as had that of Nexus. The two intruders at the prison started a shitestorm of events after killing those two Magehunters.
“Sergeant?” Garrick asked. “Should we investigate?”
“Nay, likely too much civet addled that bastard’s brains, I’d wager.” Traven sighed. Their assigned route was to patrol from the Magelight Market down to the city gates. He didn’t want to waste time exploring dingy back alleys when his stomach was grumbling and he knew the gate guards would have a warm cookpot awaiting them.
He had to admit, the title sergeant had a nice sound to it, although it brought no end of headaches. Lassiter had evidently been impressed with him and put in a good word with Barristal, for shortly after the foundry blew up, he’d been called into the captain’s office and given a field promotion.
Now Traven led a patrol, a squad of six men, twelve hours a day, every day, trying to stamp out the unrest, rioting, and looting—not to mention the other crimes: murders, rapes, and everything else going on.
He was being run ragged, his off time spent filing reports, keeping up his gear, and trying to eat and sleep at some point in there. A bit of ale didn’t hurt, either.
The thought of ale made him wish the next four hours would speed up so he could drown his head at the tavern for a change—if he could still afford ale on his meager salary. Its price had increased five times over in the past couple weeks.
“Sergeant, something’s happening,” another of his men warned.
Traven looked up warily. Screams and shouts of alarm were ringing out down the alley where the thug had come from.
“Damn it. Let’s check it out,” he told them.
Leading the way, he rounded the corner just as a knot of ragged people, beggars by the look of them, burst from the narrow street, screaming in fright. He grabbed one of the men by his thin arm, trying to question him, but the beggar was mad with fear. He shook and pointed wildly down the street, spittle flecking his chin.
Traven released him in disgust. Likely another ogre out of hand or some such. Perhaps even some fiend that’s been stranded in Nexus.
The squad advanced down the street. He could make out a couple snarling forms in a shadowed alcove below an overhanging storefront. Squinting, he realized his thought hadn’t been far from the truth.
A couple of lean, scaled monsters were tearing bloody pieces from a couple of unfortunates who had fallen in the street.
“Oh, gods!” Garrick exclaimed.
Too loud, Traven thought just as the closer fiend looked up and snarled at them. Bloody saliva dripped from its teeth. Long claws dripped blood on the cobblestones as it sniffed at the guards. It growled something to its companion then charged them.
Traven barely had time to react before the snarling jaws were snapping at him. He managed to jam his shield in its face while his sword instinctively lashed out. It bit into meat, then he was knocked backward. Stumbling on someone’s foot, he sprawled on his backside.
He was relieved that his men hadn’t turned tail. Some of the other units of the Watch had desertion problems, but Traven’s squad was a staunch group of men. Adelard helped him up while Garrick hacked at the creature. The other three of his men were fighting the second demon.
The closer fiend slashed at Garrick, knocking his sword from his hand. It quickly clamped onto his arm, sharp teeth puncturing the mail. He screamed.
Traven lunged forward, driving his sword deep into the fiend’s back. Following his lead, Adelard hacked at it until it fell. The creature shuddered and then lay unmoving.
The other three Watchmen cut down the other fiend, although Bronsen had sustained a deep wound in his thigh.
“What in the Abyss are these things?” Adelard asked Traven.
“Something from the Abyss, for sure. As to what they are, I know not. We’d better report back to Barristal. But first, we’d better find out whence they came.”
After bandaging up Garrick and Bronsen, the latter hobbling along with his arm across another man’s shoulders, they followed the street from which the fiends had come. Near the edge of the Magelight Market, they discovered a boy scrambling along a rooftop.
“You, there!” Traven called.
The boy froze, and when he saw they were the Watch, he prepared to bolt.
“You’re not in trouble, boy. Just need to know what you saw.”
Slightly relieved but still looking like a doe about to flee a wolf, the boy came closer to the eave. “M-monsters, sir!”
“Aye, we slew them. It’s safe now,” Traven said although he wasn’t sure if that was a bald-faced lie or not. “Tell us what you saw.”
“They appeared in the market there.” The boy pointed toward the Magelight Market around the corner. “Musta been a hunnerd or so!”
“A hundred?” Adelard asked, surprised. “You better not be pulling our leg, boy, or I’ll put my belt to your arse till you can’t sit down for a week!”
“No, sir! That’s the truth. Those lizardmen things weren’t the worst, either! There was some giant spider monsters too and some big warriors in armor like yours with glowing eyes.” The boy shuddered.
Traven felt his hand cramp up, so tightly was his grip clenched around the hilt of his sword. A hundred or more fiends if this boy speaks true! He tried to steady his voice. “Where did they come from?”
The boy shrugged his thin shoulders. “Don’t know. I was sitting up on that rooftop over there when a portal opened up right there in the street! A tall man with a staff and black wings came through! Then those monsters started comin’ through. And kept comin’. The man waved, and they began heading off in different directions. I hid till they were gone.”
A knot of fear clenched Traven’s gut. What does this mean? Is Nexus under attack?
“And what of the man with the wings?”
“He waved his hand, and another portal opened, and he disappeared.”
“Thanks, boy.” Traven flipped him a couple copper bits, which the boy neatly snatched out of the air before disappearing over the roof.
His sergeant pay wasn’t feeling like nearly enough anymore.
***
Flurbinger Flent squeezed through a narrow gap, letting out a grunt of pain when the cog of a gear scraped against his back.
Oil stained the front of his overalls, but that was nothing new. The muted grumbling in his belly told him he should find something to eat, slim though their provisions might be.
He slipped out and dropped from the face of a gear back into the passageway. His lower back sent painful aches racing up his spine when he slowly straightened up. He groaned and tried to knuckle the stiffness out. Dontarius and the rest of the crew had retired to eat dinner half an hour past, but he had continued his fruitless inspection.
Briefly, the thought of his nephew, Yosrick, popped into his head. Yosrick was a well-traveled adventurer, and Flurbinger had sent him to talk to the Solites, thinking he’d keep them occupied or at least out of Flurbinger’s hair while he dealt with his larger predicament. Once the Machine had been sabotaged and the foundry destroyed, Yosrick had come to him begging to help since the Solites were eager to aid as well. After Flurbinger had told him everything he had known, his nephew had vowed to not return until they could fix the Machine.
I should’ve known better. Yosrick always had his head on straight, but I thought he was being a fool.
True to his word, Yosrick and the Solites had disappeared shortly after his vow nearly two weeks prior and hadn’t been seen since. Flurbinger was concerned about him—he couldn’t shake a bad feeling that they had run into some serious trouble and might never return.
My sister is gonna kill me if the lad doesn’t make it back safe. If I’m still standing after that, Qixi will likely want to kick my arse too. Those two beautiful children—I couldn’t forgive myself if they were to grow up without their father. He sighed loudly. Just one more bloody worry atop all the others. Wherever you are, Yosrick, may your Sage watch over you.
A sudden presence in the chamber interrupted his reverie and sent an icy surge of fear running down his spine. He’s returned, he thought with horror. The Pale Lord will be most displeased at my failure. With a dawning realization, the awful thought struck him that he might not see Yosrick or Dontarius or any of his men again—the Pale Lord might strike him dead right where he stood.
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