More cheers went up for the Lady of Twilight. Wyat cheered along with them until his eyes fell upon a large dark heap on the ground some distance away.
“Arron!” He ran until he reached the body of his friend, lying twisted and broken, still in dragon form. The dragon was covered in blood from dozens of wounds, the worst a savage mauling around the neck.
“Oh, gods, are you alive?” He walked around to Arron’s head, chest tight with fear. The dragon lay still until, just as he was about to mourn his friend, breath stirred faintly from Arron’s snout, stirring the ashes on the ground.
One green eye slowly cracked open and regarded Wyat with what he was shocked to realize was amusement. “You still haven’t learned, have you?” his voice rumbled. “How many times do I have to tell everyone—I’m a lot harder to kill than anyone gives me credit for.”
Wyat burst out with relieved laughter. “Arron, you bastard! You had us worried there, mate!”
“Aye, well, that doesn’t mean I won’t yet perish. It’s been a fairly brutal day, and my wounds are considerable.”
Wyat felt Nera’s presence approach and turned to find her drifting down from the sky to land softly beside him. She placed her hand on his back companionably. He was relieved to see his other friends had survived. Idrimel, Endira, and Yosrick had come forward to join them, but he didn’t see Waresh anywhere.
“Enough lounging about, Brother.” Nera’s voice returned to its normal tone, filled with amusement. “The day is yet young.”
“I wasn’t strong enough—I’m sorry if I failed you, Lady,” Arron said, suddenly humble. Surprisingly, there was no mockery in his tone.
Nera smiled although she looked slightly pained. “Let’s cut the ‘Lady’ shite and all other formalities while it is just us—that goes for all of you. You are my friends, not subjects.” She placed her hands on the dragon’s shimmering scales.
Wyat grinned, reassured that despite her newfound abilities and appearance, deep inside, she was still the same Nera he had grown up with.
As they watched, Arron’s flesh knit back up, his wounds closing, and the scales regrew over the gashes in his hide. His form blurred and then shrank until he was the familiar half-elf who was almost a brother to Wyat.
Arron sat up with a groan. “I don’t suppose we’ve earned a bit of down time? I wouldn’t mind having an ale or seven, a bellyful of Sven’s finest cuisine, perhaps a wench on my arm…”
“Nay, you and I have work yet to do.” Nera ignored his groan and turned to the rest of them. “I’m happy to see you well, my friends. The security situation within the city should be well in hand in short order. Do as you like—take some well-deserved time off. If ever you need anything, I’ll be here… forever, it seems.” The last part came out after a sigh.
“We’d like to stay and help where we can,” Idrimel offered.
A chorus of nods agreed with her.
“Very well. I must take care of some other matters, but the city is yours to do with as you will.” Nera smiled at each of them before turning back to Arron. “Let’s be on our way, Arronessalesyth.”
The half-elf grinned and nudged Wyat with an elbow. “At your command, Lady of Twilight,” he said with a formal bow. “Drink an ale for me, you lucky bastard,” he added in a whisper to Wyat.
Nera shook her head, looking slightly irked, before surrendering to a grin. With a wave of her hand, brother and sister were gone.
The rest of them exchanged glances, not knowing what to say.
After a moment, Yosrick cleared his throat. “Well, I’d best be checking on my family before I aid with the rebuilding. I’m betting Qixi will insist on having the lot of you over for dinner, so don’t be strangers!”
Wyat clasped hands with the gnome. “Hell of a horn you got there,” he said in admiration.
“Aye, I think it worked out fairly well.” Yosrick beamed with pride. “Anyone heading that way?”
“I’ll accompany you,” Endira said. “I’d like to return to check on Nihad to make sure the shop is still standing.”
The pair took their leave after exchanging farewells.
Wyat and Idrimel were left alone. “Could I escort you to the temple, Lady Idrimel?” he offered.
“Just Idrimel, please. We’ve been through enough together to skip the formalities.”
“Oh, certainly.”
“To answer your question, I was thinking of tending to the wounded for a time,” she replied, eyes distant as if struggling with a decision.
“Ah, of course. I suppose I’d best get back and see how the boyos fared and pick up the pieces as needed.”
Her expression cleared, and the aloof façade she often maintained dropped. “You and your men fought very bravely, Wyat. I’d be honored to accompany you and aid any of your company who might be in need,” she said warmly.
Surprised, Wyat was at a loss for words for a moment. “Oh, um, sure. I’d be deli—honored to have you accompany me. Just think, to be seen in the company of the Golden Priestess, Hero of the Battle for Nexus—perhaps that might be enough to get my own name mentioned in the bards’ tales someday!” He extended his arm gallantly.
“There is no way they could neglect your heroic deeds once the tales are told. I won’t allow it.” Idrimel met his eyes and placed her hand on his extended arm.
Her smile brightened the grim landscape, and together they walked off the field of victory.
***
Nera approached the dais and the hideous throne that was hunched atop it like some great beast. The throne looked like the most uncomfortable-looking thing she could imagine, and she shuddered at the thought of having to sit upon it. She sensed once the foundry was rebuilt, the flow of magic from it would become nearly overpowering, with its ties to the very bones of Nexus itself and the great Machine that powered the city.
She wondered how the Pale Lord could sit there for millennia in his torpor. The sudden desire to run away and leave such a crushing burden of duty behind rattled her.
I wish that someone else would take up this duty.
“There is no one else.”
Nera turned to find the kindly countenance of her mother standing there, dazzling in her pale beauty. She couldn’t enter Nexus in physical form, instead sending an illusory projection.
Arron watched quietly from the edge of the throne room, as if hesitant to get involved. She grieved the fact that he was acting differently toward her now, as if he was subservient and no longer a brother.
“To rule the Nexus of the Planes is your destiny, Daughter. I agree with Arronessalesyth’s assessment. You have lived in Nexus your entire life and have an empathy for your fellow citizens. You are intelligent, compassionate, and just. Your bloodline allows you to harness and control the power of Nexus. Finally, you are not beholden to the good or evil powers. Impartiality is a critical trait—the Balance must be maintained. There is nobody better.”
“Brother Cerador would approve,” Nera said with a sad smile.
True to predictions, the monks had disappeared following the battle, their role fulfilled. They had no use for accolades or rewards—fulfilling their pledge was reward enough.
“I don’t know what I must do. Will you guide me?” Despite all her power, Nera suddenly felt very small and alone. I wish Malek were here. He would know what to do.
“You will do very well, Lady,” Arron said, acknowledging her with a respectful bow of his head. “Mistress Sabyl speaks truly.”
“I thought I told you to cut out that ‘lady’ shite,” Nera snapped. She was in Arron’s face in two steps, meaning to smack him. Instead, she collapsed against his chest and hugged him fiercely. “I don’t need another subject—I need a friend. I want my brother back! You won’t leave me here on my own, will you?”
Arron smiled warmly and hugged her in return and was once again the same Arron she had grown up with. “It means a lot to me that you still consider me your brother after everything. The armies of the Abyss couldn’t
keep me from witnessing my sister’s big test of rulership. I trust Nexus will be an even more interesting place around here in the coming centuries. With you and I together, what could go wrong? Well… perhaps it’s best you not answer that,” he added after a moment with his crooked grin.
The reassurance Arron would be there for her gave her the push in the back she needed to take that difficult first step. She held Arron at arm’s length and gripped his upper arms. “I’m sure I can find plenty of things to put you in charge of, such as getting rid of collars, retrieval officers, mandatory servitude, and the ilk. Oh, and that wretched mana factory has got to go. I’ve already got Flurbinger Flent planning a replacement. I’m going to keep calling you Arron, too. Arronessalesyth doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as nice.” She winked at him before stepping away and facing Sabyl.
“I believe I am ready, Mother. I’ll have you know that I hate that throne already, though.”
“Change it to your liking—should be a small enough matter for you.” Sabyl walked beside her as she approached the dais. “The people of Nexus need you, Daughter. Your companions have faith, as do Arron and I, that you will make a fine ruler.” She smiled again and stepped back.
Nera took a deep breath and, steeling herself, walked cautiously up the steps toward the throne, as if it would come alive and seize her in its bony maw. She gingerly put a hand on one of its arms, feeling the tingling rush of its vast power, and was suddenly flooded with the perception of everything occurring throughout the city.
Guards and thieves worked alongside each other, clearing out rubble and burned buildings, searching for injured in need of aid. Temples of different faiths joined forces to aid the sick and injured and to perform funeral rites for the dead. A certain mercenary company which had played a key role in the defense of Nexus had been tasked with securing and divvying out the food stocks fairly from the granaries. Merchants, hungry for the chance to make some coin, hesitantly left their sealed-off district to set up shops in the markets once again, though their wares remained sparse. Even beggars could be found pleading for coin on the street corners as citizens slowly decided to brave the streets again.
In a cozy tavern known as the Laughing Lunatic Zombie, adventurers gathered to share in fellowship and brag of their heroic deeds in the Battle of Nexus.
Nexus was well on its way to recovery, Nera was pleased to note.
The throne shimmered and deformed, the great bones shrinking and turning dark brown. It soon took on the form of a comfortable, padded leather chair from that very same tavern.
And then Nera sat upon the throne of Nexus.
***
Nesnys dug her talons into Neratiri’s face, tearing deep gouges in the flesh of her forehead and cheeks until blood ran in rivulets down her face. Not content to stop there, Nesnys then plunged her fingers into the sockets of Neratiri’s rust-colored eyes. Her sister shrieked in agony, but Nesnys didn’t relent. She tore her eyeballs free, grinning wickedly as the red sinew attached to them pulled free, slick with blood. Tossing the orbs aside, she then went to work on the rest of her sister’s naked body. She seized her horns and slammed her head repeatedly into the flagstone floor until her skull split open like a melon. Then, she brought out the droexhal dagger that had tormented her so. She carved profane runes in her sister’s chest and stomach, watching with relish as the bronzed skin withered from the cuts and turned black, sending lines of corruption spreading throughout her body.
“Mistress, there is news of the war effort.” Zepmipuhr’s gravelly voice broke through Nesnys’s rage, returning her to reality.
The mutilated body below her no longer drew breath. She was beyond Nesnys’s rage—for the moment. The damned soul would be restored on the morrow. Perhaps then she would continue.
Nesnys cursed at the inconvenience of it all. She hissed and waved her hand, dispelling the illusion. Her half-sister’s hated features vanished, replaced by those of a dark-haired human girl, barely a woman. She had evidently performed some truly wicked deed to warrant spending her afterlife in the Abyss after her untimely death at such a young age.
Nesnys turned her attention to her servant, who had been waiting patiently, knowing better than to interrupt one of her moods. “What news, Zepmipuhr?” She gestured, and in her hand appeared a silver goblet of wine, from which she drank deeply.
The demon prostrated itself before her. “Mistress, the Lord of Achronia’s forces have been destroyed in the Nexus of the Planes, and he has been defeated. The portals have been sealed once more.”
She choked on her wine, her mind reeling from the news. A wave of dizziness overcame her, and she had to steady herself against the wall. “Is this a trick? How is this possible?” she whispered, her fury suddenly forgotten.
“’Twould appear that a new player has entered the game, Mistress. A being styling herself the ‘Lady of Twilight’ appeared suddenly and tilted the balance in favor of the defenders of Nexus.”
“What does this mean? Where is my father?” All her plans and desires were suddenly snuffed out like the brief life of a mortal. She was again relegated to eternity in the Abyss, and in her current state, that could prove intolerable.
Zepmipuhr shifted uneasily. “Mistress, he has not been seen since the battle. As for what it means… in your wisdom, you’d know better than I.”
She barely heard the demon, staring out the window over the blasted plains of Achronia. Green lightning crackled in the red sky. Her mood was as dark as the perpetual storm clouds low on the horizon.
I must think on this. Father has not returned to the Abyss. I would’ve sensed his presence. Has he been slain? Captured? The Engineer wasn’t originally of the Abyss—he wouldn’t respawn as a true fiend would if defeated on another plane.
Nesnys waved and dismissed Zepmipuhr, who disappeared as quickly as his hunched body could move. “Without Father, an opportunity has arisen… yet I have not the strength to seize control of Achronia. Others will strike swiftly to take advantage of my weakness. Damn that cursed sister of mine!”
She shuddered at the thought that Axoazihr, the former Lord of Achronia, cast down by her father’s hand with her own assistance, might be restored to power. If so, then the greater fiend would come after her for vengeance, and his wrath would be terrible indeed.
The reflection staring back at her in the silver goblet was a painful reminder of her plans having been destroyed singlehandedly by her plane-cursed sister. The skin of Nesnys’s once-comely face was scarred and mottled with corruption, as were her neck, shoulder, side, and hip. Her left arm was permanently weakened by the damage. The droexhal dagger wielded by Neratiri would have slain her, had it not been for Nesnys’s magic keeping its corruption at bay. However, she could not neutralize the effect but only halt its further spread. Hence, simply keeping herself alive took a steady draw on her power. The pain, she could not rid herself of. Spasms of agony would course through her like bolts of lightning from time to time.
Not only had Neratiri nearly destroyed her, but the plane-cursed had somehow survived her grievous wounds and fled Achronia with her friends in tow. Nesnys briefly wondered if Neratiri had something to do with her father’s stunning defeat. If so, then she truly was more formidable than she had given her credit for.
I must gather more information and learn more of Father’s defeat. She winced as a spasm of pain shot through her side. No, I have not the strength to seize control of Achronia. Her eyes turned back to the mutilated body of the damned soul on the floor, and her rage rekindled.
Until I am no more, I shall spend my days plotting my revenge on Neratiri and all those she loves. She crushed the goblet to a shapeless lump in her fist and imagined the wine streaming down her hand and wrist was her sister’s blood.
’Ware, Sister, for I shall have my vengeance. When that day comes, you yourself may be long dead and gone, but any scions of yours had best take heed.
Epilogue
Waresh found himself in darkness, deep undergr
ound. The scene around him looked familiar, and after a moment he recognized it as the city within the mountain that was Silver Anvil Hall. However, the city was dark and empty. The forges were cold, the torches unlit.
Something is gravely wrong.
His feet took him deeper, along a familiar path he had trod hundreds of times. He wandered into the working quarter. He passed a wainwright, a tanner, and numerous other shops familiar to him, yet each was closed up and empty.
He shivered, feeling the bitter cold seep into his bones. The city should’ve been warm, sometimes uncomfortably so when all the forges were going.
“What has happened here? What has befallen me home?” The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he had said. Silver Anvil Hall hasn’t been home for years. Strange that I thought of it as such.
A shadow loomed in the street ahead, huge, blotting out the faint light from the glowing mosses along the cavern walls. Waresh fumbled for his battle-axe, but it was gone. So were his hand axes and knives. He was dressed in only a comfortable tunic and breeches, his armor nowhere to be found.
How could I be such a fool, to go out totally unarmed? Ever since I was a wee one, I carried at least a small knife.
The shadow swooped toward him, and Waresh cringed. He knew who it was.
Me time has come. It’s Belgond—come to take me away to the depths of the world, where the light of Reiktir’s forge cannot reach. Me crimes are many—penance must now be due.
Waresh straightened his shoulders and faced his doom with head held high. “I’m ready, foul Belgond. No need to act all intimidating—just take me to yer cold, deep home already!”
The shadow swooped down to smother him. Waresh forced himself to stand fast, not flinching or even blinking as the shadow consumed him.
And then it was gone. Blinking, he looked around, but he was alone in the middle of the street once again.
Dawnbringer Page 33