by Damien Lake
He jumped in comical steps through the pool until he reached the platform. Behind him, Marik fought his own way back. Dietrik hoped the lad had a plan for pulling their hides off the tanning rack. Because he certainly didn’t see how they would get out of this forest alive. The unhealthy atmosphere had grown worse by the moment. And now it did so in truth as well.
Some metaphors were too bloody apt, he thought sourly.
Shouts from the water forcibly recalled Mendell to Dietrik’s mind. He searched until he located the colonel. The man had chosen to climb atop a root rather than back onto the platform after Marik had hurled him off. His angry shouts were directed at the four wading soldiers.
Whatever he wanted of them he would not be getting soon. Most had dove under the surface at the last explosion. The one who could hear his superior looked confused by the shouts.
Dietrik pulled himself onto the platform. The damned explosion had completely redistributed the debris. And the dagger could have been snaffled by the wind, too. It could be anywhere!
“Mate, we had better look for our swords if can find them,” he said.
“Can’t.” Marik set to throwing aside smoking boards anew. “They were next to the first explosion. If they aren’t slag, they could be anywhere.”
“Hells in a bloody hand basket.” He felt no urge to argue with his foremost mate. Not any longer. They were going to die, and he knew it. The only thing left was to fight to the last. It would look better when their souls were judged in the afterlife. Can’t be labeled a coward who gives up. That would seriously effect their eventual destination.
Still, he reflected as his fingers dug through shattered deck fragments, it would have been nice if Marik had paid attention to his advice earlier. It would have kept them both out of trouble. He was a decent lad but he lacked a good dose of common sense.
That was the whole reason a man made friends in the first place. So they could look out for each other.
Marik abruptly stood to his feet triumphantly at the same moment Xenos emerged from the raging fire. He was at Marik’s back. The lad never saw him. In Marik’s raised hand was the dagger.
Xenos saw it. His robes were burnt through in several places, his hair in disarray. Smoke rose from his skin. Wildest of all were his eyes. Dietrik saw them widen in outrage.
“God tolerates no disobedience!” He raised a hand.
No! Dietrik screamed silently. No one takes my mate’s back while I am there!
He launched himself at Marik. His reaching hand shoved his friend off his feet at the same moment Dietrik saw a flash of light.
Pain seared through him. Terrible pain unlike any he had ever felt. He briefly wondered if this was what Marik had endured during those times his body had been nearly destroyed by magic.
The pain grew to a scale beyond words. Bright white filled his vision…before everything faded to an endless black.
* * * * *
Marik raised the dagger in victory. This was what they needed to bring down Xenos! He had felt the blood mage’s raw physical strength. Even his own strength working would be insufficient to overpower that monster.
Also his pitiful magic would be a joke to Xenos. His etheric orbs had failed to kill the beast at the Citadel’s fall. So much raw power flowed through his body that, should he ever manage to hit Xenos unaware with it, it probably would do no damage anyway. It would be as throwing pebbles against a brick wall.
A hard blow struck him in the back. It was unexpected and made him stumble forward. The dagger tumbled from his hand. At the same moment, a light flash cut through the trees accompanied by the characteristic buzzing of a saw blade orb. He heard the sound growing, saw it from the corner of one eye.
It would miss. It would pass behind him. What was more important was the dagger. It was arcing out over the pool, which had grown black with soot.
The buzz’s pitch changed behind him for a single eye blink before the orb arrowed out over the water. Marik felt a wet mass splatter across his back.
It covered him in an instant. From his neck down to his waist. On his bare skin it felt hot. And sticky. A bit peeled off his neck to roll down his shoulder. He saw it was a gory shred of flesh, leaving behind a trail of pink sludge that resembled pudding.
His muscles felt rusty as he turned. Knowing what he would see before he did. Feeling a portion of his soul remaining behind where he had been. A piece that could never be replaced.
“Dietrik!”
* * * * *
Adrian waited beyond the screen of smoke. He and Jide had been creeping closer since the red stranger’s initial attack, which had killed every Taur present and the traitorous white-robes who had joined leagues with Councilor Xenos. Only a thin veil of smoke separated them from their quarry.
He had already seen enough to confirm the red stranger’s tale. The translations of the shouts provided by the Galemaran Rail Drakkson had been unnecessary. Four women, and pregnant women at that, murdered for no reason…
No. For a reason. A twisted and blasphemous reason. So that Xenos could gain additional power with which to fuel his resurrection of an anathema religion. A cursed cult.
The two strangers had ordered, ordered!, him and Jide to stay out of sight. They had seen enough, they were told, to convince them. Their duty from there on was to return to Arronath. To begin the process of purging the court and the underground caverns of the vile vermin.
That was laughable. The kingdom of Arronath had been forged from the ruins of seven lands that had nearly been annihilated by the green-robed Earth God’s followers. Their people had united into a single whole, bonded together by their determination to never again allow the Earth God’s followers to walk the world. It was a duty they would pass to their descendants for eternity.
From the beginning the Arronathian Armed Forces had been meant as a tool with which to search out and subjugate the remaining followers. Too, when it was realized that shards were missing from the obsidian statue’s remains, it had become the second unquestioning goal Arronath’s people would work toward. Obliterating the mad god’s taint.
The drive to carry out the original intentions had faded the further from the horror and pain each successive generation was. Arronath’s pride, the Armed Forces, became rife with career men and power players. Adrian and Jide’s patient stalking of the corruption within the ranks had made great strides in returning the army to the disciplined entity it was intended to be.
And before Adrian’s eyes was a piece of the past. The very essence of the evil that Arronath had crafted the Armed Forces to combat.
Stay away? Flee back to Arronath with the job unfinished?
Laughable.
Anger had restored Adrian’s fierce determination and drive that the witching hours had stolen from him. He shook off the mantel of confusion that had plagued him since awakening on a battlefield to find his men being overrun. There were no doubts any longer, no questions about what should be done next.
Adrian waited for the chance he knew would come soon.
He watched the Galemaran Rail take advantage of his own opportunity. Xenos had unleashed an attack on the two men standing beside the pool. Rail leapt with surprising strength, covering three times the distance an ordinary man could.
With a cry he shot through a wall of rising smoke. He appeared feet from Xenos. A mighty swing with the massive sword he carried should have caught Xenos in the back.
Except the councilor spun to catch the blade in his left hand, the black dagger still clutched in his right. The blow’s force shoved him back several feet across the loose debris. There he stopped. He had found purchase on the solid boards beneath the rubble.
Xenos snarled a curse into Rail’s face. They struggled, strength versus strength. Adrian could count the perspiration drops rolling down the Galemaran’s face.
Between them, the blade shuddered. How much physical force was being exerted on the blade? Adrian had no way to estimate.
When the sword was slowl
y forced back toward Rail, the Galemaran abruptly changed tact. Both Arronaths, expert fighters in their own rights, marveled to see it. Rail released one hand. He dropped it to the deck for stability. His entire weight shifted so that he was suddenly pulling Xenos forward using the councilor’s momentum.
Rail’s feet left the ground. It looked as though he meant to stand on his one hand, yet he pushed off from the ground with his arm while his feet rose. His boots twisted around Xenos’ arms and landed a fierce kick to the underside of the councilor’s chin with the considerable strength possessed by the Galemaran.
Xenos’ head rocked back from the uppercut blow. He nearly fell when his feet tripped over the broken boards.
Adrian tensed. He could feel the right moment approaching. It was as if he could read the next move in the battle. See a few moments into the future.
Neither man had released his grip on the sword. Rail pushed forward, hoping to capitalize on his enemy being off balance. He was not fool enough to try wrenching the blade free so he could use it. Instead he used it as a shield, keeping it between him and the lethal talons of Xenos’ reconstituted hand.
Rail swung in a pugilist’s broad arc. The punch landed. Xenos yelled in pain from the blow to his face. Again Rail swung, giving Xenos no chance to recover, allowing him no time.
Except Xenos had recovered through strength of will alone. The pain must have focused his mind. He yanked the sword sideways. Rail’s punch landed on the broad, hard steel.
There was a crack. The Galemaran barked in pain. He must have broken a knuckle or two. Xenos was still on unsure footing. Instead of wasting precious moments trying to regain it, he forced himself further off balance in order to come around the sword.
Here it comes. This will be the telling moment!
Xenos swung in an arcing blow to match the weathered mercenary’s. It struck Rail firmly in the temple. He was knocked sideways from a force that must equal a falling tree. The councilor stumbled as the punch pushed him further off balance. His arm flailed momentarily while he strove for equilibrium.
Adrian dashed through the smoke less than ten feet from Xenos. Jide was caught off guard by the move and remained motionless.
It is there! Right there before my eyes!
He knew Xenos commanded incredible strength, but he was unprepared. Still, a simple tug alone would be insufficient…
Adrian’s hands closed around the blade of the obsidian knife. He ignored the pain, ignored any damage he received from it. This was far more important than his comfort.
Xenos’ eyes widened when he found Adrian at his side. Before the councilor could react, Adrian pulled with all his might. The sharp stone sliced into his palm. To the bone, by the feel. He refused to allow the pain to slacken his grip.
The obsidian shard slipped from Xenos’ fingers. He had done it. The councilor’s fingers snapped shut on open air.
“I expected my previous two visitors,” Xenos commented while Adrian retreated four steps. He straightened his tattered robes. “I confess that you were a surprise to encounter earlier in the deep woods, good general. What is the great Arronathian Armed Forces coming to if they are unable to apprehend a single man, I ask you? It seems apparent you have done a poor job in training your troops.”
“Poor job or not, deceiver, I have succeeded where it is most telling. I have divested you of this!”
Xenos cocked an arrogant eyebrow. “That? And what is it you believe you have accomplished?”
“It is clear what evil corrupts you. And while you are beyond redemption, at least the source of your power is taken from you!” He drew his sword with two fingers and passed it to his unbloodied hand. “As the general of the Armed Forces, I will fulfill my duty and spill your blood with this steel!”
He cut for Xenos’ neck. The slice was clean. It would kill the evil snake who had whispered poison into the king’s ear. With this—
Xenos caught the sword easily with his fingers. His other hand whipped out to close on Adrian’s neck. “Poor, poor Adrian Ceylon,” he whispered with pleased malice. “You should have remembered that the loyal priests of Turliss all carried sacrificial knifes crafted from obsidian. Did you think this was a precious fragment of the God Statue?”
The hand squeezed until Adrian gurgled. No matter how he fought he could not break free.
“You will contribute to the resurrection of He whom you so misguidedly despise. Know that as you die. You may watch this day’s conclusion from the far side of the veil, once you see with unclouded eyes and understand your folly.”
Adrian flailed wildly. His larynx was being crushed. He tried to use the stone knife in his hand to cut at the demon’s arm. It seemed made of steel. Nothing he did injured it. Nothing he did…nothing…
His vision was blurring. Xenos seemed to be splitting in two. One drifted upwards to the left. And the singed robes he wore were beginning to run. Like paint. Like…something…
Faintly he saw a shapeless form that must be Jide running to his aid. Faithful Jide who had put up with so much to help Adrian achieve his ambitions. He should have sent Jide back without him to do…whatever it was they should have done. Back to…someplace.
Someplace…
* * * * *
A shrieking battle cry from the one-eyed Arronath tore Marik’s gaze from Dietrik’s body. Blood pumped in alarming quantity from the stump of Dietrik’s arm. The stump that had once ended in a hand.
Xenos had the older Arronath in his grasp. It only took a heartbeat but Marik registered how the body was vibrating. The eyes melted from their sockets to flow liquidly over the angular cheeks. Before they could drip off the chin, the entire body flashed a brilliant, shining white for a single instant.
The Arronath Xenos held exploded. Thousands of small chunks burst away as if a watermelon had been dropped from a cliff top. Sounds of wet meat sloppily hitting the platform were lost under the grotesque shlep that signaled the interior organs landing in a pile. Intestines came to a slow rest after they slipped over each other in wormy confusion. They slowly deflated as liquids other than blood spilled from their severed ends, making the entire mass appear to sigh in defeat.
Marik became aware of a warm sensation on his brow. He wiped his hand across and came back with several bloody meat flaps covered on one side with hair. The man’s scalp.
Through the smoke charged the one-eyed Arronath. Xenos shifted to meet the attack with a sneer. His taloned hand was ready to meet such a pitiful assault.
But Rail flew back into the fight first. He held his body low, running deer-quick across the deck. His sword swung faster than the eye could follow.
Xenos blocked the blade with a snarl and stopped it before it smashed his knee. He threw it sideways before whirling on the Arronath. The one-eyed man had closed the distance.
He attacked with a blow Marik could read despite the distance. A slash at the neck. Xenos blocked it easily. And then the one-eyed man unleashed his true attack. In his hand he held a dagger that he had kept carefully hidden.
The lash caught Xenos by surprise. He blocked it with his forearm. Marik’s hopes rose.
Yet it did not seem to scratch him at all. Xenos hit the man in the chest with a splay-fingered blow that knocked him away.
Rail shouted vehemently at the one-eyed Arronath. In Arronathian. Before either could begin a new assault, Xenos roared in fury.
“Look out!” Marik shouted it instinctively. With the roar of the flaming rear-deck he doubted they could hear him clearly.
Xenos flung a barrage of saw blade orbs in random directions. The Arronath tensed, preparing to dodge, though none were on a direct course for him. It was the one speeding straight at Rail that stopped Marik’s heart.
Not another one! Not someone else I love!
Rail swung his blade upward from the ground. The blade’s wedged edge glowed with power. When the orb struck, it shattered into twisting energy shreds. Marik blinked stupidly.
He had seen that before. Was th
at also a kkan’edom ability? What had his father done?
Xenos howled in rage. The one-eyed Arronath leapt forward to take advantage of the perceived opportunity.
This time Rail’s shout was so forceful it came out in Galemaran. “No, you damned fool!” He catapulted toward the Arronath.
Marik saw it. An instant before Xenos moved, his sneer reappeared.
It’s a feint! He was trying to draw them in by pretending to be furious. Gods, I have to help them! A weapon! There has to be a weapon around here! Where? Where?
The hilt of the exploded Arronath’s sword emerged from beneath the offal pile. Despite the gore streaking it, it should still be serviceable. He could use it.
It happened too fast. Marik never had time to move. Rail shouldered the Arronath hard enough that the one-eyed man was hurled sideways. Which put Rail directly in the path of Xenos’ striking hand. A streaking falcon diving at its prey.
The world stopped when Marik saw the razor-sharp nails burst through Rail’s back. Fingers emerging. Closing. So slowly, and yet, not moving at all. Fingers bending as if to pat his back. A mother patting her baby after feeding…
How could it be possible for a man’s fingers to emerge from another’s back? Surely it couldn’t be. The gods could never be so cruel as that. If they were, then mankind would have abandoned them ages ago. Right?
Xenos closed his fingers around the wound and tore his hand back. The only sound Marik heard was the impossible cracking of ribs being rent. A bloody maw gaped in Rail’s chest where Xenos ripped out his father’s lung.
He could see it held in the man’s hand. Rail stood motionless. Before he could fall, Xenos threw the lung into Rail’s face.
Marik screamed in a fury he could never remember feeling before. His mind emptied completely of thought. He charged Xenos with nothing but the intention of pulling the man to pieces with his bare hands.
The one-eyed Arronath wobbled into his path. Marik did not care. That whore-son was the one who had cost his father his life. He would charge straight over the man and tear Xenos apart.