“Mephi! " Konietzko cried. Mephi snapped his head toward the Margrave and ran to him. Konietzko pointed out across the field, where the Silver Fangs were fighting against the Wyrm advance. “Get Tvarivich hack here! She can’t hear my howls! ” Without hesitation, Mephi dropped to all fours and ran across the field into the fray. Finally, something to do!
He weaved under combatants, barely dodging the blows of tentacles, pincers and knives, his speed boosted by spirit powers. He skidded up short to avoid barreling into an Ooralath hound but failed to completely avoid its jaws. Teeth clamped onto his tail and he yelped as he shot forward, the beast’s fangs tearing a piece of his tail off. If that's the best meal they get out of me, I’m doing good.
He leaped across a mound of fallen scrags and landed behind Tvarivich, who spun around and glanced at him before turning again and focusing on the Black Spiral Dancer leader, who clearly saw the queen and worked to move his personal guard toward her, itching for a fight.
“Tvarivich! ” Mephi yelled. “The Margrave commands you to withdraw! ”
Tvarivich shot an angry look at him. “No! I will kill Yurkin! Once he falls, their forces will splinter! "
“The Margrave has other plans! " Mephi said, reaching out his hand to grasp Tvarivich’s shoulder. She spun around and clubbed him with her mace. He reeled and fell, his jaw rattling. Tvarivich stood over him, breathing heavily, rage smoldering in her eyes. She hefted the mace and hesitated, trying to control her fury. She threw back her head and howled, the call to withdraw.
Silver Fangs ran over to form up around her and Mephi and then worked their way back, parrying the blows of the Black Spiral Dancers and fomori who beset them. Mephi limped next to Tvarivich, who fumed, staring back at Yurkin, who sneered at her from afar.
Mephi clutched his jaw, which had barely missed being dislocated. He knew, however, that as mighty as her blow had been, she’d still held back most of her strength. He was lucky to be alive.
As they melted back into the Garou line of defense, the Wyrm forces stopped short of engaging the full line. Tvarivich grasped Mephi’s shoulder.
"I apologize, herald, ” she said, brows furrowed. “My urge for vengeance overcame my senses. ”
“Hey, ” Mephi said, wincing as he worked his jaw. “We all know the cost of rage. No need to explain. ”
Tvarivich gave him a crooked smile. “You are a bold soul, Faster-Than-Death. Return to the Margrave and seek his next orders. ”
Mephi nodded and limped back to the center amid Konietzko’s pack. He scanned the line, trying to catch up on what had happened while he was fetching Tvarivich. He groaned in dismay as he noticed the left wing. It was folded back, tightened for defense after withstanding a charge against the line, weakened after the thunderwyrm’s assault.
The Margrave seemed unconcerned. He ordered the entire formation to retreat slowly. When the Black Spiral Dancers saw this, they cheered and pushed their forces forward, sending a ragged, uneven charge against the Garou. They hit the Stormcrow and the wings parted to admit them. Fomori, scrags and psychomachiae charged exultantly through the line of defense, spreading out amid the scattering Garou ranks.
The Margrave howled and the trap was sprung. The Theurges held up their fetishes—black crow eggs—and smashed them on the ground. Smoke billowed forth, engulfing the attackers. Mephi heard a cacophony of cawing and screaming and saw the edges of the smoke shimmer with the shapes of wings and beaks. The real stormcrows were free.
The Wyrm forces tried to retreat, running in all directions. Dark clouds of smoky crows clung to their heads, pecking at their eyes and tearing their scalps with sharp, ephemeral claws. The Ahroun moved in, tightening ranks once more to prevent the creatures’ escape, and began mowing them down in droves.
A snarl ing growl rang out across the field. Mephi shot his glance back at the Margrave in time to see him charge forth, his Shadow Lord guard tearing into the Black Spiral Dancer packs that had come too close, overconfident of victory.
The Shadow Lords hacked at the deformed werewolves, who fell like saplings before machetes. The Dancers, beset by a force more powerful and disciplined than they, resorted to their favored tactic. One by one, the deranged wolves howled and screamed, all vestiges of their sanity burnt away by the raw power of rage. The warriors went berserk, their rage overcoming all reason, becoming mindless, brutal monsters.
Against any other foe it would have been terrible. But the Shadow Lords, masters of manipulation and underhanded rule, had long ago learned the trick of turning such mad fury to their own ends.
The Margrave halted and gestured to his guard, who called on their storm lore and directed the berserk fury of the Black Spiral Dancers against their own tribe mates. Lost in frenzy, the Dancers had no idea that they now tore into one another. Each exulted in the raw sensory thrill of the kill, believing themselves to be tearing their enemy limb from limb, when in reality they eviscerated their brothers and sisters.
The Shadow Lords held back, waiting for the foes to decimate themselves. The Margrave howled again and unleashed Tvarivich’s forces. The Silver Fangs shot forth, head ing around the snarling, gnashing gang of Dancers caught in their own rage and drove into the next line of banes and fomori.
The Margrave howled again and the Stormcrow formation broke, becoming the Raging Storm. Packs separated and shot off across the field, engaging the enemy in small units, spread out and impossible to focus against with any significant force. All the battle lines were down; now it was a grand melee.
Mephi kept close to the Shadow Lords, within earshot of the Margrave. Charvas Yurkin, the Wyrm army’s general, veered away from Tvarivich’s forces and aimed now for the Margrave. His elite guard had remained sane; they did not resort to rage, recognizing it for the suicidal move it often proved to be. Yurkin clearly understood now who the true leader of the Gaian forces was and directed his guard to intercept Konietzko.
The Margrave smiled and Mephi knew he had been expecting this. He had expertly maneuvered the enemy into this moment, this personal fight. The two forces moved slowly across the battlefield, drawing closer to one another. The berserk Dancers were nearly all dead, only a few of them still fighting. The Margrave ignored them. One of the other Gaian tribes would finish off what was left.
Mephi peered through the battlefield. Tvarivich was far off, still driving into the enemy, oblivious to the Margrave’s coup. She wouldn’t be happy to have revenge stolen from her.
The rain fell lightly now, more of a faint mist, although certain areas of the field still suffered stronger downpours. The eye of the storm seemed to follow the Margrave.
Yurkin halted fifty yards away, gathering his guard around him. He chortled and drew a large piece of slate from a leather pouch. Mephi squinted and saw that it wasn't slate—it was some kind of scale from a huge creature. Yurkin whipped his hand hack and flung the scale forward. It spun through the air like a giant Frisbee and clattered against the breast of one of the Margrave’s guards. It exploded as soon as it touched him—not with a conventional bomb blast but something far more terrible.
A rent in reality gaped there, growing huge within seconds. It drew all features of the landscape toward it with incredible force, like a blown-out airplane window at high altitude pressure. Garou, dirt, dead bodies and even the storm itself were sucked into it.
Mephi dug his staff into the ground and held tight, feeling the tug of sideways gravity as it attempted to draw him into the hole. Within moments, the tugging stopped and a huge, barbed shape appeared where the hole had been, a massive insect squeezing forth from its nest. Mephi moaned and scrambled backward, searching around desperately for the Margrave.
The nexus crawler stepped forward, its armored head pivoting on its long neck. The air shimmered around it and transformed into a poisonous cloud.
The Margrave howled in anger, yelling for all troops to retreat and re-form.
Yurkin’s laugh rang out across the battlefield and he howled for his t
roops to charge. His own guard surged forward, rushing toward the retreating Margrave.
The nexus crawler, seemingly blind and responding only to sound, shot its giant pincers out, spearing two of the Black Spiral Dancers as they rushed past. As it gestured, the air warped around it, sending out waves that washed over the rest of the Black Spiral Dancers. As each wave hit them, they screamed and transformed, their flesh-and-blood bodies becoming malformed clay, the mud of another reality entirely.
Yurkin howled in anger and retreated before the waves of warping reality could touch him.
Mephi joined the Shadow Lords, staring at the nexus crawler. It was the biggest Mephi had ever seen—the biggest he had ever even heard of in myth. The sheer range of its reality-warping power was tremendous—nothing could get near it without succumbing.
The Margrave growled at his guards and they pressed back further, while he, along among the Garou, stepped forward, heading for the nexus crawler, klaive drawn.
“Is he nuts?! ” Mephi yelled. “Stop him! ”
The Shadow Lords ignored Mephi and pulled him back with them in case he was foolish enough to follow the Margrave.
As Konietzko approached the outer waves of the thing’s power, he pulled a medallion from beneath his armored breast, yanking it from its chain. He kissed it and cried out to the winds. Mephi made out the word “Grandfather, ” but nothing else.
The storm clouds concentrated above the Margrave, pooling into a single, thick mass. It descended from the sky and wreathed Konietzko, hiding him from sight behind the roiling, lightning-filled cloud. The storm mass moved forward, past the waves of improbability, marching toward the nexus crawler.
The beast sensed its coming and stepped forward, pincers flailing, seeking prey. The storm leaped towards it, engulfing the nexus crawler. A terrible screech rang out. Beneath its grating tone, Mephi could hear a deep-throated howl.
Mephi peered into the cloud, seeking some sign of the Margrave, but saw only lightning and blackness. A sharp pain in his right shoulder brought him back to full awareness of his immediate surroundings. He threw up his staff in time to block the second blow of the clawed fomori. He twirled the staff around and smacked the creature on its neck, knocking it over. Then he snapped down with his jaws, crushing its skull.
The Shadow Lords around him fought the new wave of fomori, slashing and biting in all directions. Many of the Lords had already fallen.
Mephi glanced around the battlefield and his heart lurched. A roaring line of reinforcements spilled across the field, slamming into the Garou packs and driving them down or back.
The ground shook and Mephi looked again at the cloud. It was tattered now, pieces missing. The Margrave hung from the nexus crawlers neck, his klaive buried in the thing’s breast. His right leg was gone, speared on the creature’s pincer.
Konietzko reached up into the thing’s jaws and yanked its tongue out. It screeched in pain and slashed at him, opening up a vicious wound in his back. The Margrave shoved his arm into the mouth and the thing spasmed, trying desperately to throw the Garou off. Konietzko drove his arm deeper, using his other arm to prevent the jaws from closing completely. He howled, summoning a burst of strength, and yanked his hand back, dragging a piece of brain clutched in his claws.
The nexus crawler imploded. The shockwave of slamming air deafened Mephi and most everyone else on the battlefield. The crawler was gone, its manifestation withdrawn. The Margrave’s body lay on the battlefield, unmoving.
Mephi shot forward, arriving at the Margrave’s side within seconds, before Konietzko’s own guard had made it half the distance. He bent down and saw Konietzko’s chest rise and fall weakly. The Margrave’s eyes fluttered open.
“It is over for me, ” he said. “My wounds can never heal. ” “No! ” Mephi said. “Healers are on the way now. ” Konietzko shook his head. “Nothing can heal what that thing did. ”
Mephi sucked in his breath as he saw the wound Konietzko indicated. There was a large hole where his guts should have been. It was impossible that he had even stayed alive this long.
Tvarivich thumped down next to Konietzko, panting from her long run across the field. She stared in horror at the wound.
Konietzko smiled. “You must lead in my place. Finish this. ” His eyes closed and his breath stopped.
Tvarivich hid her eyes beneath her arm, sobbing. A howl of anguish erupted around them as the Shadow Lords cried for their lost lord.
Tvarivich stood, staring across the field at the approaching forces. The Garou were terribly outnumbered. She snarled a command at her Silver Fangs, their numbers much fewer than before. They rushed over to surround her and Mephi, prepared to throw back any attack.
Tvarivich grabbed Mephi by the shoulder and yanked him up him, staring into his eyes. “You must leave, ” she said. “Go to Albrecht. Tell him what happened here. He’s the last line of defense. ”
Mephi broke from her grip and glared fiercely at her. “Hell, no! This isn’t done yet! I can’t sing of a victory I didn't witness! "
Tvarivich stepped forward and shook him. “Fool! There’s no victory here! We’re all going to die! But we will die fighting, taking every last one of them down with us. You, however, will not be here. I need a herald to warn Albrecht, to tell him what happened, and you’re the only one capable! ”
Mephi, astonished by her icy anger, stepped back, shaking his head. “I can’t leave—none of us can. The rules of this place—it won’t let any of us out until we've won or lost. "
Tvarivich nodded impatiently. “You can’t leave by moon path or bridge, no. That is why you must follow the Margrave. ” She advanced menacingly toward Mephi.
"You’re going to kill me? ” Mephi said, refusing to back away, standing tall. “I’m a Silent Strider, damn it! None of my kind comes back to tell the tale! ”
“Kill you? ” Tvarivich said, startled. She stopped and stooped on her knees, pulling a vial from her pouch. “You can’t warn Albrecht if you’re dead. I need you to follow the dead. ” Mephi shook his head and spread his arms out. “What the hell are you talking about? ”
“The doorway into the paths of the dead, ” Tvarivich said as she uncorked the vial. A dim light escaped from within, shimmering. “It is still open. The spirits of our slain walk through it. I cannot see it or them, but I sense this. And you, " she said, looking straight into Mephi’s eyes, “have a connection to this door, even if you cannot sense it. ” Mephi bent down next to Tvarivich. “What is that stuff? " “Water from the Pool of Sorrows, the teats of our ancestors. Come closer. ” Mephi bent forward and Tvarivich wiped the shimmering liquid over his forehead. He shut his eyes and she rubbed his lids with the wetness. As she did, she muttered an invocation under her breath. “Part the mists, ferryman, reveal the river. In Charon’s name, let it be so. ” Mephi opened his eyes and blinked. His jaw dropped open in astonishment as he scanned the field. Shadowy figures stood beside the bodies of the fallen, guiding the shades of the dead Garou to rise and step through portals of dark mist. Mephi recognized the figures immediately. They turned to watch him with curiosity.
“You... you’re real, ” he said, rising, gripping his staff. The nearest figure approached him, leaving the Margrave’s body. He wore the Crinos battle form, with a long, thin snout and tall, upraised ears. An Egyptian headdress, golden armbands and a shepherd’s staff, curved into a crook along the top, were his only accoutrements. “How... how did you get here? ” Mephi whispered. “Mephi Faster-Than-Death, ” the Silent Strider said, “You are my scion. My loins birthed your kin long ago, in lands far from your own. ”
Mephi looked down at Tvarivich, who looked back at him with an inquisitive look on her face. He realized that she couldn’t see the other Silent Strider; only he could.
“How can this be? ” Mephi said. “My ancestors are gone. ”
“Gone. 7” the Strider said, cocking its head. “No. Unseen, but never gone. Our duty is to the dead, and so we are never seen by the living. Unti
l now. ”
“Why now? Why me? ” Mephi gripped his staff tighter. “The door has been opened by the ancestors’ decree. Only three times before has this happened; the fourth will be the last. The door cannot close until one among the living has made his choice. The Ivory Priestess’s power— secrets stolen from the dead—has opened your eyes to us. This is forbidden. And yet... I sense that you might still serve the ancestors’ purpose. ”
“How? Who is this ‘one among the living’? ’
“Come, " the Strider said. “The dead depart and we must guide them. ” The Strider walked slowly back toward the misty portal over the Margrave’s body, waiting for Mephi.
Mephi looked back at Tvarivich and clutched his staff tighter when he saw her swinging her mace at a Black Spiral Dancer. The Wyrm army had broken through and he had not heard them. He felt a cold shudder shoot up his spine as he saw a Black Spiral Dancer step through him from behind, oblivious to Mephi’s presence. Mephi was intangible.
“You have already taken the first step, ” the Strider said. “Now finish the journey. ”
Mephi walked to the portal, tears welling up in his eyes as he watched Silver Fangs fall beneath the tide of Wyrm forces. Tvarivich had pummeled her way through and now traded blows with Yurkin. Mephi paused, waiting to see the outcome. The Strider’s hand reached forth from the portal and pulled him into complete darkness.
“Hold, boy! ” Loba yelled. “We must stop to rest. ” She bent down on the moon path, unhitching her backpack.
Martin, a few yards ahead, shook his fists. “Again? But I’m not tired! ”
“I am, ” Loba snarled. Martin hung his head sheepishly and walked back to sit beside her. “It’s not far now. Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon. But if we are attacked again, I need to have all my strength. "
Martin furrowed his brow, staring at the wound on Loba’s left arm. The claw marks had not yet healed and occasionally burst open again, causing Loba more blood loss.
World of Darkness - [Time of Judgment 02] - The Last Battle Page 20