by Sam Ferguson
Braun ducked back around the boulder, his eyes blinded by the brilliant explosion. He took in a steadying breath and let his eyes readjust. Then, he leapt out from behind the boulder and charged the intruder.
“This ends now!” Braun shouted.
The dark figure snapped his fingers and a wave of air slammed into Braun, picking him up and throwing him back ten feet to slam into the base of a large tree.
“I am sorry to see you, Braun,” the figure said as he took two steps toward the large warrior. “I had not intended to hurt anyone in House Lokton.”
Braun screwed his face up and grunted as he struggled to his feet. The voice was somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Who are you? Show yourself!”
The figure laughed. “I am sorry, I truly am,” the figure said. He snapped his fingers again.
The black mist began to coalesce into several large forms. Black figures groaned and stood in the darkness. Only then did Braun realize that it was not a mist at all. They were spirits, or specters, brought into existence by the intruder’s evil powers.
“Be gone!” Braun demanded as he lifted his sword into the ready position. “I cannot allow you to disturb this area.”
“Oh, but Braun, I have come for Gondok’hr’s ashes.”
Another man may have asked why, but not Braun. He was not a man of words, but of action. He charged down once more. The first dark form lunged at him. With a flash of his sword, Braun cut off the creature’s arm. The humanoid hissed and staggered backward.
The intruder then turned his back to Braun. “My servants will deal with you. I have other matters to attend to.” A green light extended out from the intruder’s hand and permeated the ground until the whole area began to glow. The remaining palo santo trees withered on the spot, shriveling and shrinking against the weight of the evil being wrought upon them.
“Rise, Gondok’hr, rise!” the intruder said.
“NO!” Braun shouted. A rush of anger flooded his body and caused his strength to surge. He cut down the dark servants as he waded deeper into the throng and toward the intruder. At first it appeared as though the battle would be an easy task, but then those who were cut down began to rise again, coated in the same green light as the ground. Even the arm Braun had severed came back to life and tried to reached out and grab Braun’s ankle. Braun managed to stab the dismembered arm and fling it away.
He struck out wildly, cutting two more of the things down, but the rest of them kept coming.
Something cold shattered through his chainmail and pierced his left shoulder. Braun’s left arm went limp and heavy. He turned and kicked at his assailant, striking a wight in the chest. Another one snarled and came in from the right. Braun turned just in time to cut off another attacker’s arm at the elbow. He stabbed straight into the creature’s chest. The monster fell back.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Braun,” the cloaked stranger said from somewhere behind the throng of foul creatures.
Braun put his weight into a full vertical chop that connected with the top of the fiend’s skull and continued down to split the wight in two. He then lunged forward and hacked off another wight’s head. He moved for a third, but before he could reach it, another came in from behind and tore at his right arm. Chainmail links snapped like dry twigs as sparks mixed with a spray of blood. Braun’s sword arm fell, tingling for only a moment before the heavy numbness took over.
He grunted and launched a backward kick that knocked the attacking wight away. Braun was no fool, he knew he couldn’t win, but he was not about to make it easy on his enemies either. With his arms dangling at his side he spun and jumped between savage kicks. He caught the nearest wight in the groin, and then followed up with a left-footed round-house to the face that knocked the wight to the ground, cracking its skull on a stone. Another wight rushed in. Braun stopped it with a massive stomp to the creature’s chest. Ribs caved and snapped under the force as the wight’s limbs jerked forward before the whole body flew backward to knock into three more of the creatures.
It seemed every shadow in the area gave birth to more of the sinister beings. Wights surrounded him now, and he was drowning in a sea of gnashing teeth and dagger-like claws. He fought valiantly, but in the end he was caught by a severed hand that had crawled toward his ankle. The fingers ripped through his pants at the ankle. A terrible, shooting pain blasted through Braun’s right leg up to his hip. His limb felt as though it were stone. He could no longer move it. He stumbled and fell.
The darkness closed in as his body grew cold and heavy.
As his mind gave in to death, the large warrior wished that he had been able to do more to protect House Lokton.
*****
Lady Arkyn sprinted through the dark cavern. She had scouted it well before deciding to use it for refuge, and knew that near the end was a smaller shaft that would allow her to escape upward. Better than that, there were two vents that spewed a vile mixture of natural oil and an odorless gas. She would lead the attackers there, and then she would hit them with something that was sure to break the reanimation spells.
The stumbling steps were gaining speed as the lumbering creatures followed her through the cave. The woman was still chanting and making clicking noises. Lights flared into life in the cave, momentarily blinding the elf while also aiding the attackers. She knew she would have to move much faster if she were to have any hope of reaching the shaft
She sprinted nimbly through the tunnel, avoiding the occasional rock hurled haphazardly after her. After three minutes of hard running, she came to the end of the cave. Two waist-high mounds rose up from the cave floor. Black goo bubbled and spurted out the tops as green and yellow vapors hissed and rose into the air to coalesce along the stone ceiling. She turned sideways and stepped between the two mounds, careful not to let any of the black liquid touch her. She pulled her dagger and stared upward through the shaft. She could just make out the open night sky above the twenty-foot long chute. Lady Arkyn took in a breath and then ran up the back wall, leaping at the last moment for the chute, with her arms stretched upward. She stabbed her dagger into the compact dirt on one side and threw her left hand against the other side, grabbing onto a thick root. Her shoulders burned as she pressed into the sides and slowly pulled herself up. The thirteen seconds that passed before she could pull herself up enough to wedge her knees and back against opposite sides of the chute felt like an eternity. When she had found this escape route, she had been so confident it would provide a quick exit, but reality was proving that she had overestimated her abilities.
It took great effort to shimmy up the chute, managing only a couple of feet in the first minute. The shaft broke to the right a bit, which proved difficult to navigate as even her narrow shoulders barely managed to squeeze through the opening. Luckily, however, that very bend in the chute provided her with an excellent foothold so she could stand and rest her hands and shoulders before continuing to propel herself upward. The next third of the tunnel went fairly quickly.
She could hear the angry shuffling of feet below. They were close.
Lady Arkyn moved faster. She would need her hands free in order to use her tinder kit and drop the spark down to the gasses in the cave. She was five feet below the surface when a dark form came into view. She froze, hoping it wouldn’t be able to see her in the darkness of the shaft. How had they known of the shaft?
“Get me a torch,” the man said from above.
Lady Arkyn cursed her luck. She didn’t have long now before being discovered, and there was nowhere to go. She looked down and saw several forms walking below her. One of them bumped into one of the bubbling mounds and recoiled with a shriek when some of the hot liquid hit his arm.
Lady Arkyn closed her eyes and leaned back into the tunnel with her spine as she pressed into the opposite side with her feet. It was now or never.
She took out her tinder kit and also a rag and bit of wood. The elf could only hope that the vapors had not come up i
nto the shaft. If they had, then she might only be igniting herself, but there was little choice anyway. There were too many below to fight, and the ones above would have the advantage. Her only course of action now was to try and take as many of them with her as possible.
She whispered a silent prayer and then used the tinder kit to light the rag and bit of wood. Once she had a flame, she heard excited shouting from above.
“There, there!” a man said.
Arkyn moved her left leg and angled the burning mass of cloth and wood so she could drop it.
One of the reanimated creatures looked up and grunted at her.
“Catch this,” she said as she let go. She watched the flames flicker in protest as the mass of fire rushed downward. Her breath caught in her throat when it hit the side of the tunnel and bounced, sending sparks outward, but the flame lived on until it fell directly into one of the two bubbling mounds.
Whoosh-whomp! BOOM!
Fire and stone erupted violently. A rush of heat assaulted Lady Arkyn. She tried to shield herself from it, closing her eyes and covering her face with her hands. The stinging blaze went up her pant legs and licked at her body as it passed upward for a moment, and then it stopped. From below her there was a sick, wet thumping sound. She looked down and saw the top half of a man’s body stuck in the bottom of the shaft. Somehow, the explosion had thrown him upward, sealing off the chute from below and sparing her life.
Never one to waste a good turn of luck, Lady Arkyn scampered upward as quickly as she could. When she reached the top, two men were rolling to their hands and feet two yards away, while another was putting out flames on the front of his tunic by slapping himself and running around wildly while screaming hysterically.
Lady Arkyn left the screamer alone and went for the two that had obviously been able to dodge the flames that had shot upward through the chute. She came down hard with her dagger, slicing the first in the back of the neck. He cried out and fell forward. The second man turned to see what was wrong and took Arkyn’s dagger through his left eye. The elf used the heel of her boot to unstick her blade and then went back to the first man. She dropped down, flipping her dagger upside-down as she moved, and drove it through the base of his neck.
She then stood and looked for the panicked man. The flames were larger now, engulfing his torso as his tunic burned.
Lady Arkyn calmly walked toward him, placing herself in his path as he turned and ran back her way, still slapping the flames and oblivious to her. She lashed out with a quick kick to the man’s jaw. Bone cracked as his skull jerked backward. His screams became garbled mumbles and he fell onto his back. The flames flared outward and then died down a bit as the tunic was nearly consumed.
“Stop, drop, and roll, my friend,” she said as she came down hard, plunging her knife into the man’s heart. She pulled her dagger back and then kicked the body down the steep hill, watching it roll as the last of the flames died out.
Lady Arkyn sheathed her weapon, and then turned to escape into the night.
CHAPTER 4
Erik found the other senior monks in a large chamber. There were no decorations on the gray and brown stone walls. The monks here believed that in order to debate problems and come to true wisdom, there should be no distractions. The floor was cracked and worn smooth with age. It had been repaired in some places, but never had it been replaced with marble or expensive tiles. There weren’t even chairs in the deliberation chamber. They believed that no problem was so difficult that it couldn’t be solved while standing.
Shermin saw him enter the room and offered an empathetic smile.
Erik replied with a nod, but he couldn’t try to return the smile. The raven was still fresh on his mind. Logically, he knew that he had been too far away to reach any of his friends during the night. Even in his dragon form, it would take days to cross even as far as Ten Forts. It was what he didn’t know that was eating at him. He had no way of knowing which of his friends had been in peril, and that was destroying his peace. His first guess had been Lady Arkyn, as she had sent the Night Hawk to him, but there was no way for him to know for sure at this point.
In any case, he had to try to force that to the back of his mind now. He was needed desperately in the north, but he would not be able to leave until he had fulfilled his promise to the monks.
“We have decided to give you the name,” Shermin said without pretense. “Each of us shall give you a letter. When you have all of the letters for the name, you will have to figure out the order in which they are to be placed.”
“You mean you don’t know?” Erik asked.
Shermin shook his head. “The letters are purposefully mixed as an added safety measure, but I suspect you can figure it out easily enough.” Shermin approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He leaned in close to Erik’s ear. “My letter is A.”
Shermin then left the room.
The next monk approached. “F,” he said quietly.
The third came next. “D,” he whispered.
The remaining monks each gave him the last letters, R, Y, N, G, respectively.
Erik exited the chamber and quickly made his way outside only to find Shermin standing in the grass a few yards outside the monastery.
“My family has served here for generations,” he said softly as he turned to regard Erik. “Since even before the demon came to plague us. The first born male of each generation has dedicated himself without exception, but I shall be the last,” he said.
Erik cocked his head to the side. “Why is that?” he asked.
“My father and mother perished many years ago during an orc raid, my three brothers along with them.” Shermin’s eyes grew moist. “I am the last of my family. It would be a shame if the demon were to outlast my line.”
Erik nodded. “You will see the demon fall today,” he promised.
Shermin smiled and tossed his head back as he took in a great breath and let the sunshine hit his face. “May Icadion grant you victory,” Shermin said. “And, I am sorry about your friend,” he added. “I know what it is to lose someone close.”
Erik nodded, understanding now that Shermin had lost nearly everyone he held close. “Thank you,” he said. In truth, Shermin’s words did little to comfort Erik, but the young man was no stranger to loss either. Many of his friends, some closer than others, had died in years past. His adoptive father as well. Death wasn’t something he was used to, but it was something he could push down into the recesses of his soul in order to accomplish the work at hand. For now, he was Erik, The Champion of Truth, the slayer of demons. There would be time for mourning later.
He marched out across the long yard until he reached the edge of the plateau. He knelt down and closed his eyes as he rehearsed a spell Lady Dimwater had given him the last time they saw each other. He had long ago committed it to memory, but wanted to run through it once before the fight. A knot formed in his stomach as he rose to his feet and drew his mighty sword.
“Always nervous,” he said to himself. It seemed no matter how many battles he won, there was always a bout of jitters and fear before another. He called the letters to mind. He viewed them floating before him, imagining how to arrange them. As he did so, he called upon his power to see the truth.
Letters fell into place.
The demon’s name was Fangryd.
Erik glanced over to the monastery where Shermin was standing and watching. None of the other monks had come outside. Shermin had his hands clasped together and his mouth was moving, likely in prayer. Erik looked down at his sword. It was not the same weapon that Master Lepkin had given to him, but it had many of the same properties. In fact, it had the same hilt. Though the original weapon had been destroyed, this new one had been forged using Telarian steel, the only metal known to withstand a dragon’s flame and remain cool to the touch. The orcs that Erik had lived with had some amount of the material, and had helped him re-forge a new sword in the pattern of the old one. They were the one people who could underst
and the significance of such a gesture, a reaching back to the past to create something remarkable. The endeavor had turned out better than even Erik had hoped. Not only did the weapon look like the old sword, but the dragon’s flame enchantment had been lying dormant inside the hilt all those years. Once a blade had been laid into the hilt anew, the enchantment had taken hold, allowing Erik to summon fire onto the sword as he had with the original weapon.
He traced the fingers of his left hand over the flat of the blade and took in a deep breath to steady his nerves once more.
“Let’s get this over with,” Erik said.
“Fangryd, I summon thee by name!” Erik shouted into the air.
Nothing happened.
“FANGRYD!” Erik shouted again. “I command Fangryd to appear!” The early morning sky grew dark. A warm wind from the north carried black and green clouds over the plateau. A pair of tornado funnels formed, whirling in the air above Erik. Dust and debris whipped around him as the twin tornados danced around each other, slowly and methodically extending their tails downward until they landed upon the ground.
“Who dares to summon me?” a voice thundered from within a cloud of blackness born of the tornados.
Erik stood firm. “Fangryd, I order you to come out and show yourself.”
“Hmm, I can feel the darkness in you, but you are not what I expected,” the voice said.
Erik paused for just a moment. What did the demon mean that it could sense the darkness within him?
A guttural laugh emanated from the darkness. “Yes, yes, I can see it now. You are fighting against the darkness inside of you. Then why have you summoned me? You have no power to control me, boy.”
“I have not summoned you in order to control you,” Erik shouted.
“Then, I shall feast upon your bones, and I shall relish in the freedom you have so foolishly granted me.”