The Five Elements

by Scott Marlowe

  She placed the three Elements of Fire, Air, and Water into the bowl that was the Element of Earth. Then she climbed through the ship to reach the main deck. No one moved to stop her. They were either too busy seeing to wounded comrades or simply knew better. It was an easy decision to stumble to the gunwale, a more difficult task to clamber over it. Before she let herself fall, she reached out and melted the bars holding the prisoners. She'd done her part. She'd set them free. The rest was up to them. With the same tendril of thought, Shanna grasped hold of the machine Erlek had kept with them. She'd no idea the machine's purpose, but knew only that it was linked with the fate of the Five Elements. It was enough. In the moment that she let go her grasp on the Griffin, she also tightened it around the machine. It burst forth from the airship's hull and fell with her.

  Behind her, she heard airmen—or perhaps it was the dwarves—shouting something, but it all disappeared in the next moment, replaced by the air rushing by. A moment's exhilaration subsided as the Element of Air took hold, leveling her and the machine off and then pushing the both of them forward. She rode the wind like a steed, letting the Elements guide her. They knew her intended destination and what she intended to do once there. Separate, the Four Elements were powerful. But, together they were the essence of everything. It was what Erlek had sought for generations. Now, it was the one thing that guaranteed Shanna would never have to clean slop in the kitchens again or sweat over a vat of boiling, scented oils destined for fine soaps she would never have the opportunity to use herself. Together, the Four Elements became the Fifth. The latter was hers by right and by destiny. She need only claim the one to fulfill the other.

  21. The Fifth Element

  THE FOLK OF NORWYNNE FLED from a land gone mad.

  Leaving behind what possessions remained to them, they abandoned the remnants of hearths and homes to escape into the night with only the clothes on their backs and their children held or dragged behind. They ran screaming and crying and praying beneath a sky turned crimson with blood-red clouds that spewed liquid drops of fire. The earth cracked and convulsed, jarring some from their feet as streaks of lightning, a score at a time, turned night into day. Tornadoes swirling with flame touched down everywhere. One such destructive monster came too close to a fleeing group of men, women, and children, sucking them into the vortex, never to be seen again. Though the only shelter from such things lay behind them, no one went back. Too many had seen the girl there. Sickly pale, like one already dead, she'd flown in from the sky and landed at the city's center. Violent winds came with her and the earth trembled at her every footfall. The sorcerers' apprentices had tried to stop her, but it was as if they fought the elements themselves. Nothing could stand against such fury. Those who tried were tossed aside. This final display convinced those who hadn’t already fled that now was the time to leave.

  No one spared time for a glance over a shoulder. No one stopped. Though they beat flaming rain from their persons at every step, no one dared hesitate at all until they saw the wagon. It came shooting over the rise ahead with maniacal speed. Quickly they realized this was no ordinary wagon, for it was drawn by the most unordinary of beasts. At its helm ran a dozen hounds, surely from Hell itself, for their bodies exuded fire, their panting, noxious clouds of gas, and the flaming beads of crimson that were their eyes glowed with an otherworldly light. The wagon bucked and shook at the treatment the hounds gave it, but it remained whole. Smoke billowed from the wheels at every turn, obscuring the monster that drove this Wagon of Hell. Most folk scattered at its approach, running into the dark. Others shrank to the ground, burying children beneath them for protection. Still others, few in number but armed with spear, sword, or knife, stilled shaking knees and readied themselves to fight. But the flaming hounds and the wagon they pulled never stopped, nor slowed, nor altered course. It shot into their midst, rumbling past and then leaving them behind as it disappeared into the storm's pandemonium. Only those who'd stood their ground had seen the boy holding the dogs' reins. A demon, some thought or said out loud with trembling voices. He looked the part, with wild hair, torn clothing, and dried blood streaking arms and legs. But some had seen past the wear. Some had recognized him. Word spread, from one person to the next, until the people of Norwynne no longer ran. They still did not return to the city, but sought protection in the outlying hills where they waited, for Elsanar's prodigy, the boy apprentice, who'd harnessed the very Hounds of Hell to do his bidding, had returned to set things right.

  Aaron had no idea his coming had elicited anything but fear, for it was the only thing he saw in peoples' faces before the wagon thundered past one group after another. Over and over, the scene of folk fleeing, hiding, or raising weapons was repeated. No one truly attempted to stop them, though. He was at least glad of that, for though he held the reins, controlling the hounds had become increasingly difficult. Initially, though they'd liked their situation not at all, Ursool's charm and Aaron's link to it kept them in check. Still, they lamented their situation with snapping jaws and incessant growls. Even more so once they'd come into view of the fiery maelstrom brewing over Norwynne, for as their pace had quickened, Aaron's control over them had lessened. They pushed the boundaries of the magic, Aaron knew, causing it to diminish its hold on them though they remained incapable of breaking free from it entirely. The chaotic storm fired something in them, lending them strength. Perhaps because it reminded them of their own hellish home, Aaron thought. Instead of fighting the hounds' newfound sense of exuberance, Aaron let them have their head. The world was coming to an end and he'd come to stop it. But, to do that, they had to reach the city first.

  "Hold it steady!" Aaron shouted over the noise made by the wagon's violent undulations. Though every foot gained brought them closer to their objective, it also threatened to shake the wagon to pieces. The only thing keeping the disused contraption in one piece was Serena's magic.

  The girl sat behind Aaron on the wagon's floor. Ensel Rhe was there, too. Neither of them moved. Serena had her eyes closed. One of her hands was on the wagon's floor, palm down with fingers spread. The other was on Ensel Rhe's wrist. Waves of energy, undetectable to any but the sorcerer's apprentice, flowed through every nail, bolt, spoke, and bit of wood, keeping the pieces tight and preventing the whole from falling apart. The magical energy flowed from Serena's own reserve, but also from Ensel Rhe's.

  Aaron had not wanted to ask the sacrifice of either of them, but he'd had no other choice. Standing outside the burning wreck of Wildemoore, he'd seen the ruts leading to the manor's stables—it had been a separate structure, thankfully—and so he knew there was a wagon. His heart had sunk the moment he'd laid eyes on it, though, for it was in a sad state of disrepair. Still, giving up never crossed his mind. Instead, he looked for a solution.

  Serena had been it. As Ansanom's apprentice, she'd witnessed the black art of extromancy, the discipline of stealing soul energy from another. When pressed, she told them she'd done more than just witness it, though her tutelage had been rudimentary and only then at Ansanom's insistence. It was enough that Aaron thought his plan just might work. He'd explained it to both of them in a matter-of-fact tone. Though what he proposed repulsed even him, it was the only way. Serena and Ensel Rhe had protested. Aaron let them have their say. Then he asked if either of them had a better idea. Neither did. Ensel Rhe committed himself immediately. It took Serena considerably more time to agree. Aaron, all too cognizant of the line he was asking her to cross, had let her decide for herself. In the end, she had acquiesced.

  Her own energy and the energy she drew from Ensel Rhe had been enough to get them this far. Now, every bump, every rock, every piece of deadwood they clambered over sent a shudder of violence through the wagon that threatened to finally shake it to pieces. Even bolstered by magic, Aaron knew the wagon would only hold together a little while longer. Also, he knew they were fast approaching the limit of Serena's strength. Ensel Rhe's, too, for though his participation remained passive, his ordeal in W
ildemoore had taken its toll. The eslar had spent the journey close to Serena so she could draw from him as necessary. His endurance was a testament to his determination. Not for the first time, Aaron wondered what fueled such inner strength. His eyes never closed. Not that Aaron saw, anyway.

  The more they neared the storm's center, the worse the chaos grew. Rain thundered down on them now, an impossible mixture of fire and water droplets, much of which collided together in mid-air to form a steamy layer above their heads. Still, some of the fire droplets touched earth where they ignited ever growing blazes across the landscape. Neither the wagon nor their persons was spared the rain's fiery touch. Ensel Rhe patted down fires within reach, but had no choice but to let those beyond an arm's length burn. The floodwaters were gone, either drained into the ocean or swept away by the madness of the storm. Still, the smell of brine and rotting seaweed hovered thick around them. Once they'd passed through the initial mass of folk, they saw no one else. They heard nothing but the sound of thunder shaking the sky.

  Neither Aaron, focused only on the path ahead, nor Serena, whose eyes remained closed, saw the approaching sitheri. Only Ensel Rhe noticed the shadow running alongside, matching their progress. Only he saw it veer close, then leap for the wagon. Reacting by instinct alone, he shook off Serena's grasp as he rose to face this new threat. He thought the shadow meant to land square in the wagon, but its momentum was too great and it sailed up and over instead, clearing the wagon by a great margin. But as it did a clawed hand caught at Ensel Rhe's coat, pulling him along. Both went over the side and vanished into the fiery steam.

  "We have to stop!" Serena said, eyes open the moment Ensel Rhe had broken contact with her.

  Aaron, looking back but not knowing what had happened, shook his head. "No! We have to keep going!"

  "But your friend!"

  Aaron heard the words, but he did not answer. He returned his gaze to the storm's center, where a great incandescence was coming into view. They had to press on.

  But the wagon had had enough. Momentarily bereft of Serena's stabilizing magic, it shook and shuddered. Serena reapplied herself to the task, but without Ensel Rhe's supporting energy, she had little to supplement her own failing strength. She held the wagon together for ten minutes, then fifteen, focusing on only those most crucial pieces: the wheels, axle, and harness. Then, it was too much, and the wagon gave way.

  The seat collapsed first, hurling Aaron back so that he and Serena grasped one another at the wagon's floorboards. Beneath them, they felt one of the rear wheels shatter. The wagon’s aft sagged, then the spokes of the other rear wheel came loose, causing the wagon's backend to slam to the ground. The dogs reveled in the pandemonium, running all the faster before the shock undid the harness securing half of them. The harness had been a hodgepodge of leather and rope from the start, held together only by Serena's magic. When it gave way it fell apart all at once. The lead pair of hounds bounded free. The others followed. The wagon's forward momentum did not last long. The rough terrain, muddy in many places, turned the wagon one way and then another, until one wheel caught against a protruding rock. The wagon turned sideways and began to flip. It hung precariously, but finally settled on its side. Aaron and Serena, still clinging to one another, slid down onto the sodden ground.

  "Are you alright?" Aaron asked. Serena did not reply right away, though Aaron knew she was conscious by the way she held onto him. It took some reassuring before she would release her grip. Finally, she did.

  "We have to keep moving."

  Aaron picked the both of them up before looking in the direction of the city to gauge their distance. They were close. He said as much to Serena, who managed only a sigh. Then they advanced deeper into the maelstrom.

  * * *

  Eslar and sitheri hit the ground, tumbling one over the other until up and down blurred and the world became fleeting glimpses of a sky on fire and a blinding spatter of rainwater, mud, and ash. Ensel Rhe heaved with both arms, trying to dislodge himself from the thing holding him, but its claws, curved and wicked, refused to give. Serrated teeth snapped inches from his face, swampy breath blew into his face, and the claws tangled in his coat squeezed down until they pierced flesh. Ensel Rhe managed to bring his knee up between them, then he kicked out. His coat tore and then they were separated, spinning off in different directions. Though Ensel Rhe struggled to regain his bearings, he never stopped moving.

  The tip end of a spear plunged for his face, but he jerked his head to one side just before the weapon's point sank into the sodden ground. Water and mud blinded him as he set himself spinning away. A hiss behind foretold of the spear tip again coming for him. Ensel Rhe dove forward, forcing himself into a somersault despite the pain setting his injuries on fire. His momentum carried him to his feet. Dizzy and weak, instinct took over as he drew his khatesh in a flash and spun around just in time as the sitheri jabbed at him again.

  Ensel Rhe let the spearhead slide past him as he took one step forward and, raising his sword above his head, brought the blade down on the shaft of the sitheri's weapon. The sword sliced the spearhead from the haft, reducing the weapon to something akin to a long, bludgeoning staff. The sitheri wasted no time using it as such. Ensel Rhe ducked beneath the first swing, then countered those that followed, backing away while he struggled to clear his head and regain his center.

  He’d barely done so when a flying machine much like the one Erlek had flown in on screamed into view. Riding it was a second sitheri. This one aimed the gyro at Ensel Rhe right before it leaped from the machine with scimitar held high. The gyro, unmanned, went astray, which left only the sitheri with descending scimitar to concern Ensel Rhe, who ducked beneath an attack from the other’s blunted spear right before lunging and rolling beneath the assault of the sword. When he came up, he was clear of both of them. Ensel Rhe had time only to turn and draw his small sword from the arsenal at his belt before the sitheri were on him again. The one tossed aside its headless spear in favor of its own scimitar. When they were positioned to either side of their prey, just out of reach of Ensel Rhe's khatesh, they stopped.

  The one who'd dragged him from the wagon let the point of its sword drop almost to the ground. With its free hand, it broke something off from the band it kept looped over one shoulder. Ensel Rhe knew it for what it was—a scalp. But not just any scalp. It was his son's.

  The sitheri dangled it from one claw, letting the eslar take in its every aspect. There was no mistaking that it was Hannu's. The copper hair, lush and thick once, like his mother's, but now dried out and stringy. The skin visible beneath was blackened and wrinkled, its blue-black, distinctly eslar sheen long faded from some four years' time hanging on a sitheri scalp band. The sitheri who held the scalp—who'd worn it across his scaled chest—did so because it was the one who'd murdered Hannu. This sitheri standing before him had murdered his son.

  Rage seized Ensel Rhe. With no regard for the other, he launched himself at the snake-warrior. The sitheri dropped the scalp and met his charge. If the odds had been even, Ensel Rhe might have slain his foe right there, for his swords wove a tapestry of steel the sitheri's single scimitar could not match. But the moment Ensel Rhe had thrown himself at the one, the other closed. A slash was only narrowly avoided as the eslar, consumed but not suicidal, dove away. Turning about, Ensel Rhe found himself once more confronted by both snakemen. This time, their attack was unrelenting. They came at him hard, forcing him to take a defensive tact lest he find himself suddenly relieved of an extremity or cut in half. He was forced back, through the mud and beneath a sky whose crimson clouds wept fire. Ensel Rhe used his anger, letting it fuel muscles long past their endurance level. Still, what remained faded fast. The sitheri were quick and strong, where Ensel Rhe's movements slowed with each passing moment. Not even his rage was enough as his body, deprived of sleep for so long, battered and bruised by one foe after another, and drained directly so that Aaron's plan might reach fruition, betrayed him. The sitheri sensed, if not out
right saw, the change. Much to Ensel Rhe's surprise, they did not press the advantage and kill him right away. Instead, when his ripostes came so slow they could have easily ended him, they hit his weapons hard enough to knock them from his hands. One of the snakemen—Ensel Rhe wasn't sure which one—backhanded him across the face. The blow knocked him from his feet. Water splashed all around him. Rain pounded into his face, blinding him. He felt a clawed hand at his shirt and another at his scalp. He imagined the blade hovering there, ready to slice into him. Instead, he was lifted up and held from behind. He blinked his eyes, clearing his vision just in time to see the sitheri's clawed fist launch at his torso like a battering ram. Pure agony gripped him as the blow landed very near his badly bruised ribs. He thought he heard the crack of one or more of them, but his hearing was reduced to the dull pounding of his heart and nothing else. The blows continued, most to his gut, until he was finally released. He slid to the ground, conscious, but in agony and unable to move. Then he felt a clawed hand grab hold of his hair, half-lifting his head from the mud. This time he knew the scalping knife was there, and, just beyond it, unblinking serpentine eyes that held no mercy.

  But in the next moment, the knife was withdrawn and the grip on him released. Ensel Rhe's head slumped into the mud. It did not stay there. Forcing his eyes to focus, he craned his neck to peer through the rain and the dark as the sitheri took cautious steps away from him. Struggling to see through the gloom, he saw nothing at first. Then he saw the eyes, burning like hell coals, and the butcher's blade. Next, he saw the houndmaster himself step out from the blazing mist.

  Houndmaster no longer, the Lord of Vengeance had come.

  * * *