Wist's old mentor looked out, not over the diminishing darkness brought by the Volni, but to the Damned. No longer did they amble and crawl: now they ran. It was a manic flight. The howls and lifeless cries from the animated dead army spoke more of pain and torment than of hatred. Despite their fortunate escape from the Lyrats, there would be no evasion of this end. The number of the Damned dwarfed the Lyrats and, with only two horses and an injured companion, flight would be impossible across the harsh mountain terrain. Wist still held the katana that he had taken from Tyla. He was determined to make someone proud of him today.
‘We must make our stand here, Wist,’ said Eliscius, without turning to face him. ‘Make yourself ready.’ With no debate, the companions arranged themselves around Eliscius, with the ancient leader at the centre of their arc. At the front stood Wist, joined by Faric – his face dark and twisted. To Wist’s right stood the black cloaked mage, Dregan, his eyes closed, focussing internally on the task ahead. To the left of Wist stood Nikka, swinging the hammer, which Wist had returned to him, as if he sought to reacquaint himself with an old friend. He smiled darkly and hummed a light melody to himself. To the far left, stood Aviti, armed with a slender staff. She hovered as if a guardian over Tyla’s recovering form. Vengeance smouldered in her brown eyes, awaiting the spark that would grant its freedom.
With his heart pounding in his ears, Wist glanced away from the Damned to where the Volni fought desperately with the Lyrats. Their conjured darkness had dissipated partially and now he could make out the battling shapes. The Volni outnumbered the Lyrats, but the growing light was working against them. The outcome of their fight hung delicately poised. Wist knew he could spare no more of his attention for their struggle as he and his allies – his friends, he admitted to himself – were about to be overrun.
As this first wave of the Damned mounted the last of the steep slopes below them, Dregan and Eliscius began to mutter quietly. Their harsh, arrhythmic chanting began to pulse and swell. Wist noticed that they were not chanting an identical pattern, but one that sat in opposition to each other. When one rose, the other subsided; when one deepened, the other’s pitch heightened. The oscillating wave bounced back and forwards between the two until the air around them crackled with power and anticipation. When the first of their enemies broached the approach to the outcrop they stood on, Dregan and Eliscius unleashed the power they had generated.
A horizontal bolt of lightning sparked as it flew above the party. It cut through the first of their assailants as if they were immaterial. Wist struggled to keep his balance when the sparking light hit the ground and exploded with massive concussive force. The bodies of the Damned blew away like ashes in the fall. Boulders as large as men were thrown high into the air, followed by a hail of razor-sharp rocks. The huge stones landed in the midst of the Damned, destroying scores instantly. The rain of smaller missiles caused equal devastation, each projectile tearing and lancing through flesh and bone alike. The mages’ purpose had been two-fold however, not only had they struck a blow against their mindless enemy, they had opened a chasm in the bedrock of the mountain. This would take some time for the main body of the Damned to traverse.
The initial wave of the Damned, who had survived the eldritch attack, would be upon them in seconds. Wist mirrored Faric’s stance as best as he could. ‘Follow me,’ commanded Faric coldly, as he took a few steps forward - choosing his place to face his fate, his obduracy replaced by a fatalistic compulsion. ‘Do not copy what I do, I shall work around you.’ Obediently, Wist matched Faric’s strides and stood alongside the disconnected Lyrat. Nikka strolled negligently forward, his soft humming now lost in the cacophony of howls and screams from the Damned. If he felt any fear or regret, neither showed on his dark face – a bitter smile was all that he exposed. In stark contrast to the composed Cerni, Aviti paced about Tyla – unwilling to leave him undefended, but wishing to join her comrades in striking a blow against those who had stolen her family.
The first of the Damned threw themselves at Wist, Faric and Nikka in a thrashing assault of rotting teeth and putrescent, gouging fingers. Faric slipped his katana from his belt an instant before the initial assault began. This was no intricate, complex dance that he and Tyla had undertaken when they had slain the Krowen; this was a brutal, vengeful, caustic attack. Wist sliced the next assailant as efficiently as Faric had done, his blade passing through the desiccated flesh of his attacker easily. The fine dust that sprayed from the gaping hole he had cut in the Damned’s side was cast up into the air, pirouetting gaily in the breeze. Faric kicked the body to one side before it fell to keep their feet clear.
Nikka’s hammer sang as it swung through the air to connect with its target. The screaming attacker was silenced and then replaced by two more. The Cerni grinned wickedly as he built up momentum in his gravid motions, using the weight of his weapon to its full advantage. As he smashed it down upon another of the Damned, he began to sing. The deep resonance of Nikka’s voice cascaded down upon the mountain like the swing of his weapon, pulsating and powerful, full of energy and ire. The language in which he sang was not known to Wist, but the melody spoke to him of regret and loss, and the price that would be paid by all.
The sky flared a brilliant orange as a procession of churning orbs of molten fire streaked over Wist’s head. Eliscius and Dregan poured strands of immolation onto the endless ranks of the Damned at the foot of the Rathou. Dregan soon tired, but Eliscius’ bombardments continued. The stress of the task marked Eliscius’ face, but he refused to succumb to weariness.
With the battle raging on before him, Eliscius watched in dismay as his bursts of fire began to deflect off an invisible barrier, a score of feet above the heads of his targets, exploding harmlessly in the sky. Cursing, Eliscius shouted to Dregan. He pointed to the very rear of the Damned where a lone figure stood, barely visible at such a distance. Surrounding him was rolling blackness, less substantial than the darkness that the Volni had conjured, but somehow less natural.
‘Waren,’ spat Dregan. Their situation had gone from desperate to impossible. Eliscius looked back to where the Volni had been battling the Lyrats. The darkness that the Volni had conjured had dissipated, and with it gone, the Volni had retreated back to their hidden lair. They had left behind slaughter and devastation. Bodies of allies and enemy alike had been abandoned on the battlefield. The surviving Lyrats sat on the broken ground, their purpose lost in the fight. The disinterest of the Lyrats was a minor blessing in their current straits: they could spare no time for them. As Wist and his comrades finished the gruesome task of dispatching the first attack, Eliscius pondered what their next move should be. Flight was impossible, victory was equally as unachievable and any hope of an improbable ally riding to their rescue had been dashed by the retreat of the Volni. They had paid an extravagant price to stop the Lyrats.
The company turned to face Eliscius when the last combatant fell upon the disjointed mountainside. Their faces and clothes were coated in the fine grey dust that the Damned had discharged as they had been cut apart. Sweat ran in streaks across their faces, darkening the grey powder, leaving tracks like scarred veins. Eliscius ordered them to pull tighter together. He should have told them to retreat back into the stronghold. From there they could defend their position for days, weeks perhaps. But they would be admitting defeat, for there could be no victory from hiding in a hole, only a slow numbing death. But Eliscius felt certain it would not come to that, if he was right – and the presence of the Waren hinted that he was – then Tilden no longer wanted their destruction.
The next wave of the Damned broke off the rim of the trench that Eliscius and Dregan had gouged from the Earth. The ravening horde looked less mobile than the initial wave, but the frenzied appetite that drove them was not diminished. Eliscius told Wist to remain at the front whatever the cost, if he valued the life of his comrades. Eliscius continued to test the barrier stopping his magical assaults, but it showed no sign of weakening. It appeared that Dregan
would require more time to recover.
Wist stood poised, waiting for the next battle to begin. The revulsion that he had felt at taking a life or even lifting a weapon was absent now. Fear and doubt, his constant companions, were still present, but the frenetic action had beaten them back. As he watched the endless deluge of malformed, animate dead pouring over the lip of the dark rift, he thought of shouting back to Eliscius. They had no hope at all of withstanding this assault, but Eliscius’ command to hold fast gripped him. He would not fail this time.
The front of the wave closed on them. United, the comrades raised weapons and put fear to the back of their minds. Nikka yelled a battle cry that his people had used for centuries. Aviti paced around the fallen Lyrat as if she searched for something she has lost in the dirt of the mountain.
The Damned fell over each other in their desperate attempt to reach them, the less fortunate members of the horde ground to dust beneath rotting feet and stumps of legs. Only a handful of yards separated them now; there would be no escape. Wist closed his eyes for an instant and thought of Tilden, using him to summon the anger to face his fate.
When he looked again, he stared into emerald eyes: green orbs that mocked his existence.
Tilden.
Behind him, the Damned had returned to passivity, many of them collapsing where they had stood or falling against each other, unaware of any other presence.
No! Not here, not now.
‘Hold!’ commanded Eliscius. Eliscius’ shout stopped them all. Faric quivered with tension, desperate to avenge the pain of his severance from Tyla. Wist swallowed his shock and lowered his sword, but remained ready to strike. In reply, Tilden glanced at Wist and then addressed Eliscius.
‘So this is where you have been hiding out, old man,’ he said. ‘I have gone to a lot of trouble to flush you from your hole.’
Eliscius regarded him for a moment before responding. He would have to navigate a difficult path if they were to survive.
‘Still the liar you always were, Tilden,’ said Eliscius. ‘Why are you here, boy? Are we meant to be cowed by this show of strength? Should we grovel at your approach?’
‘And what about you, old fool?’ Tilden’s harsh words struck a bitter resonance within Wist and he fought to contain is rising temper. ‘Why are you here? Can’t you accept the fact you weren’t needed by your people anymore? Did you like the way I remade your city?’ This attempt to bait Eliscius must have hit the mark, but the ancient leader remained unmoved.
‘But let’s dispense with the pleasantries,’ Tilden’s face hardened, any sign of disdain replaced with anger and purpose. ‘I come to give you a chance – a single chance – to save this worthless bunch.’
‘I know why you have come,’ interjected Eliscius. ‘You have come to mislead and misinform at your master’s behest. How long have you been a slave to the Waren?’
‘One more word from you and I shall end it all here and now!’ screamed Tilden. ‘Do not toy with forces you have no hope of comprehending. I could crush you all here if I wished.’ He glared furiously at Eliscius as he attempted to regain control of the situation. Eliscius face slackened a little. Was that pity Wist could see for the lost boy? Tilden paused for a further moment and then continued
‘Come with me now, old man, and I shall let them live,’ he proclaimed. Wist turned to shout, but Eliscius held his hand out to prevent any interruption. ‘As for the rest of you, meet us in Bohba if you wish to learn his fate.’
The former leader of Mashesh straightened himself to his full height, sloughing off the millennia he bore. He stared back at Tilden unblinkingly and declared. ‘If I am to go with you, then let me talk to Wist alone.’ He may have pushed Tilden too far, but in negotiation, as in life, sometime it was necessary to determine where the edges of the precipice were, in order to avoid falling in.
Tilden growled at him in response. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘say what you must now or accept the consequences of your failure.’ Eliscius nodded shallowly and prepared himself.
‘Know that he always seeks to mislead you,’ said Eliscius. ‘You know the truth. But first you must accept it.’
‘No -,’ Wist began, but he was already too late. Lightning passed between Tilden and Eliscius, and an instant later, they were gone, leaving behind the agony of the Damned who now roamed aimlessly upon the mountainside.
16 - New Faith
The fractured party sat on the ground on the eastern slopes of the Rathou, north of the replenished Corb, which ran from its birthplace at the foot of the mountain, southward and then west along the great rift until it met the Intrach Ocean. Only Nikka stood, a few yards apart from the seated company, to greet the rising sun. Beside him the two horses shuffled, as if joining in his communion with the sun.
A day had passed since they had lost Eliscius and they had spent most of the time preparing for the journey to Bohba. It had taken Wist hours to scrub the dust - which had exploded from the dispatched bodies of the Damned - from his skin. His extravagant efforts to expunge the stench of decay had been so vigorous, it had left his skin raw and body bruised. He had avoided the rag on his wrist though.
Even now, a full day after his latest failure, he was convinced he could still smell decay in the air. Wist retreated further into himself.
The remaining Lyrats, defeated by the Volni, had simply vanished after Eliscius had departed, taking their dead with them back to the desert. But the Damned, released from their compulsion, continued to wander around the mountain, howling their demented anguish at no-one, until Dregan had made efforts to steer them back onto the desert floor. Nikka had grimly suggested putting all of them out of their torment, but this had been dismissed. Apart from the impossibility of his brutal request, Wist was not alone in voicing his repulsion; Aviti would not even consider this course of action. Faric refused to acknowledge anyone else at all. Nikka had simply shrugged his shoulders.
Wist shuddered at the thought of the world being transformed into a lifeless husk, with the lumbering dead its only occupants, but how could they hope to heal a break in world?
‘We must decide what to do,’ said Dregan, breaking Wist’s train of thought.
‘What?’ replied Wist, genuinely surprised at Dregan’s announcement. ‘We’ll go to Bohba. What else can we possibly do?’ He hadn’t considered any other course of action.
Dregan exhaled, struggling to contain his rising ire. ‘What makes you think that you speak for the group? Every person here has the right to choose their own path. Your stupidity is surpassed only by your arrogance.’
‘So, we should follow you now?’ Wist snapped back.
Dregan bristled as he spoke, ‘Show me one person here who has lost less than you? I do not claim the right to speak in their place, so how is it that you know our next step?’
Wist’s latest failure was too recent, too raw to allow his anger to grow. He hadn’t meant to assume leadership of the group; he simply could see no alternative. Dregan turned his attention to Aviti who sat near to Tyla. The Lyrat had made a remarkable recovery from the head injury he had sustained, thanks to the ministrations of the mage who had worked on him through the darkest hours of the night.
‘Aviti,’ began Dregan, his temper back under control, ‘where does your path lie?’
She glanced to Tyla once more before she spoke. ‘My situation has changed little since leaving my family,’ she said, biting back her nervousness at speaking her mind in front of the group. ‘I will go with Wist.’ Dregan inclined his head as if he accepted her choice, or at least her reasons for making it.
Next, he looked at Tyla, as if he expected him to speak. After a moment of silence, he turned instead to Nikka. ‘What of you, Nikka?’ asked Dregan. ‘Will you return to your people now and learn their fate?’
Nikka shook his head as he turned from the rising sun and sat himself on the ground beside his comrades. ‘My city is ruined, of that there can be little doubt now. The number of the Damned that came from Mashesh...’ His
voice trailed off into the cool morning air. A few uncomfortable minutes passed before he resumed, ‘No, I shall never return: I shall go and see where this path leads me. My life has been lived in prisons of my own making, now I wish to see the sun rise in a different place every day if I can.’ He finished his pronouncement with a broad smile.
Dregan moved on to Faric. ‘What will be your chosen path?’
‘I am sworn to Wist,’ said Faric.
He had not included Tyla in his answer and the omission struck Wist.
Before Wist could refute Faric’s claim on him, Dregan turned to Tyla and raised a pointed eyebrow towards his severe hairline. Tyla nodded his acquiescence to the will of the group. He too was bound to Wist, but he felt no need to repeat Faric’s words.
Despite the group having vindicated Wist’s course of action, he had lost ground to Dregan. By assuming that the rest of the group would follow him to find Eliscius, he had bypassed their autonomy; circumvented their right to abstain. He glowered at Dregan for a moment before he asked, ‘Where do we go now then? I’ve never been this far before and I haven’t a clue what’s over the next hill. I’m guessing that no-one else here has either.’ Wist paused for a second to allow for any contradiction, and then he continued. ‘How do we get to Bohba then? How far is it?’
‘Bohba lies at the north-east tip of Tapasya. Between our destination and us lie two major obstacles: Lake Kar-Iktar and its surrounding jungle, and the Northern Desert. The Northern Desert dwarfs the Great Desert; it could swallow the Great Desert many times over. On foot – if we manage to avoid the many dangers that lurk in its depths – it would take us many, many weeks to cross, even with the help of our horses.’ Wist began to interrupt, but Dregan continued, ‘The jungle surrounding the lake is a full day’s hike. We could skirt around the edges of the jungle, but I suggest another path. It may save us weeks of travel through the Northern Desert.’
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