by Jeramy Goble
“Come on, come on,” Jularra whispered. “What do you see?”
The flags remained unchanged. Jularra looked back to the rider.
The horse was still too far away for Jularra to glean any detail, but as she watched, the rider fell. Her heart sank as the southern tower’s horn sounded. The infantry flag remained draped, but the flag to indicate the number was hoisted back up. In its place fell a flag with the image of a flat line.
Unchanged.
They’re still coming.
As the echo of the southern tower’s horn was absorbed into the mountains surrounding the valley, a nearby Bedrock screamed out in shock.
“Your Majesty! The eastern slopes! Look! Look!”
On the other side of the valley, directly opposite Morganon—and much closer to the city than the initial catapults had been—the Acorilinians watched as no less than ten artificial facades pushed out and slid away from the mountain, just above the tree line. The Torgurians—presumably with the help of Latham’s traitorous forces—had tunneled through the mountain from the other side. Large panels of timber and brush had concealed their siege weapons up until now.
Those ingenious cocksuckers. Must’ve started right after Brinnock.
Jularra stared, unable to believe what she was seeing. As the assembled catapults were pushed out just enough to clear the tunnels, streams of Torgurian infantry tore out from behind them and spilled out into the valley.
The High Peak watchtower sounded their horns and flags to announce the siege ambush, though all on the city walls could see what was happening. The southern tower sounded their horns as well, announcing the incoming charge of Latham’s forces. The top of the gatehouse and nearby walls erupted into a frenzy of shouts and orders.
“Wait!” Jularra snapped, wanting to hear the signals being given down on the field.
To the south, the horn sounded for her forces to come to a quick march on their way to engaging Latham’s forces.
Good.
She turned her head and tried to make out the signals from the infantry to her front. The sounds were lost to her, but she watched as a group of Ridgerazers along the wall repositioned themselves to focus on the new threat.
Before she could dispatch someone to find out, the first catapult had already unleashed its projectile. It was too high for the outer wall and hurtled overhead, landing in a commercial area of the city behind her. Though she still couldn't hear the infantry’s orders below, she could see they were charging for the slopes of the northern mountains.
“Captain!” Jularra screamed at a nearby Bedrock. “Get down there and tell them to try and draw their infantry into the range of our archers. I’ll make sure our Ridgerazers focus on these catapults.”
“Right away, Your Majesty.”
Jularra shifted to examine the repositioned group of battle mages. She was able to make out Leona, Vylas, and Melcayro, along with the majority of her Ridgerazers. Abranni must be staying with the smaller group.
Jularra looked to the valley exit and saw no more catapults approaching from that position. Must’ve just been decoys. She felt a flush of humiliation at the deception.
Jularra sprinted down the steps. As she emerged from the gatehouse onto the wall, she doubled over from yet more pains in her abdomen. She stumbled into a pair of archers.
Her vision narrowed into a foggy tunnel from the stab of agony. What's wrong with me? She winced and grabbed her stomach as she coiled up in a fetal position.
“Your Majesty! Are you all right?” one of the archers cried. Assuming the queen had been struck by something, the other archer yelled for assistance.
“The queen is injured! Get a doctor up here, now!”
“No!” the queen shouted. “No. I’m not wounded.”
Her vision started to clear, and the pain began to dissipate. She unfolded her cramped limbs as she tried to understand what had happened.
And then all sound left her ears.
She stretched her jaw. Nothing. She rubbed her face and shook her head in a violent jerk. Still nothing. The concerned archer leaned down into her field of vision. Jularra could see him speaking to her, but heard nothing.
The movement of those around Jularra slowed to crawl, then came to a complete stop. A boulder flying overhead halted in mid-air. Anything moving paused. Anything alive seemed to die.
Jularra stared in deaf confusion at the silent, still archer.
And then the archer began to drip away. Like melting butter sliding off its cooler core, the archer’s face fell away, revealing blackness. Darkness. Decay.
A void.
In place of the archer, the trappings of life spilled away to reveal the figure of the Voidwarden.
Jularra's peripheral vision showed the same thing happening to the frozen statues of every other person nearby, revealing additional copies of the Voidwarden. Each one of the horrific figures was turned in her direction, smiling.
A shiver of fear sliced through her, and Jularra started to panic. She could not catch her breath. Her mind screamed at her to get away from it. From her position on the ground, she pushed herself back, scraping her palms raw in a desperate attempt to crawl free. But in her terror, her mind had forgotten she was still on the narrow wall, and her next push took her off the edge. She tumbled back with a silent shriek, but caught the edge of the wall just in time.
She hung there, looking down past her feet, and then back up. Above her, one of the smiling Voidwarden clones slowly leaned out over the wall.
“You tried to hide something from me,” it boomed with a volume that filled the valley, though its mouth didn't move. Its voice slithered with annoyed humor.
“I don’t know if I’m surprised, Jularra,” it continued. “But I must say, I’m excited.”
One of Jularra’s hands slipped off, but she got another hold. The Voidwarden spoke again.
“Today is the day that you killed Acorilan.”
The smiling image of the Voidwarden above her dissipated and once again became the archer. The boulder that had been suspended overhead during the Voidwarden’s visit continued on its course, striking the top of the battlements.
“Your Majesty! Give me your hand!”
Jularra blinked a few times, then lifted her hand up to the archer. He grabbed hold and pulled her up.
As Jularra came to her feet, she saw that everyone else had been returned to their usual selves. Thank the Gift Gods.
“Vylas!” Jularra screamed.
Together with Leona, Vylas was overseeing the larger group of Ridgerazers, who were still launching attacks at the Torgurian catapults.
“Vylas!”
He turned in her direction. Jularra waved her arms urgently. One look at her face and Vylas started to weave through the forces on the wall as she made her way towards him.
“The Voidwarden knows!” she yelled over the noise of war.
“What?” Vylas shouted back.
“It just appeared to me!” She leaned in closer as he reached her. “The potion must have worn off. It said I tried to hide something. Told me I’ve killed Acorilan.”
Vylas leaned back to look Jularra in the eyes. His expression sank in despair. Leona broke off from the Ridgerazers to join them.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The Voidwarden knows,” Vylas told her.
Leona turned to Jularra, apparently lost for words. After looking around at the whole scene of Morganon under siege, she turned back to Jularra.
“You’ve got to destroy it,” Leona finally said.
All three of them ducked as a boulder passed close overhead.
“How?” Jularra demanded as she stood back up.
“That pool,” Leona said. “That pool, and those past queens it has down there. It must have something to do with that!”
Another boulder sailed overhead. Vylas stepped away to shout back at the Ridgerazers.
“Focus everything on those catapults! The catapults!”
He turned back to
Jularra.
“The Gift Gods said you’ve… mastered your understanding of magic, yes? If you’ll ever have a chance, it has to be now!”
“I can’t leave this battle!” she yelled.
“If you don’t, the Voidwarden is going to destroy us anyway!” Vylas shouted back.
“Jularra, he's right” Leona said urgently. “We’ll go with you. Melcayro and Abranni can handle the Ridgerazers. But you need to try.”
Torn between enemies, Jularra surveyed the valley.
The Ridgerazers—both the small group down at the northern turret, and the larger group close by—were doing a solid job of harassing the siege equipment operators, even when not destroying the actual catapults. A force of Jularra's infantry had finally engaged the Torgurians from the mountain tunnels, and the rest were holding off Latham's army to the south. For now, the battle appeared to be balanced, which allowed Jularra to at least consider the idea of leaving.
“If I don’t try something,” Jularra admitted, “the Voidwarden will defeat us anyway.”
Vylas nodded.
“All right,” Jularra conceded. “Melcayro!”
He ran over.
“The Voidwarden knows about the deception. We’re going to its mountain to try and stop it before it kills us all.”
Melcayro’s eyes widened. He swayed in disbelief.
“I need you and Abranni to stay, and continue coordinating the Ridgerazers,” she added, resting a hand on his shoulder.
Melcayro took a deep breath and nodded slowly.
“Watch out for anything new,” she told him gravely. “I’ll return as quickly as I can.”
If I can.
Nineteen
Jularra galloped around the side of the inner walls, Vylas and Leona riding just behind. The three of them careened toward the city's southern exit.
“Open the gate!” Jularra screamed as they approached.
A Bedrock scrambled to unlatch it just in time. As the door swung open, Jularra glanced back to see a boulder slam into one of the southern turrets. She forced down her crushing worry and turned back to focus on the horse’s gallop.
I can’t let it end like this.
They shot out through the gate, across the fields of Morganon Valley and over the hills before hitting the trailhead that would take them to the Vacant Grave. Jularra knew the ride would be hard, with aggressive switchbacks and a brutal final climb to the mountain entrance. Only the hope of their mission assuaged her misgivings.
As the trio tore through the woods, the sounds of the battle faded. If not for the urgent pounding of the horses' hooves, it might have been any other day. Harder they pushed the horses, standing in their stirrups, leaning low over their steeds' straining necks so that the animals had full movement to dig in and tear into the ground with each stride. This far from the besieged city, the deep blue sky was clear of smoke. It's a beautiful day, Jularra thought incongruously.
Further they rode, deeper into the mountains. Morganon was gone, or at least the sound of its trouble was.
The three riders flew past a blur of black; a lightning-struck tree, perhaps. Jularra thought little of it.
Then they passed another one. And another.
What was that?
Another patch of darkness.
This time, Jularra turned as they raced by it.
That smile, she thought. That fucking smile.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the Voidwarden's sadistic voice sounded inside her head. “Are you coming to see me?”
It gave a slimy, sliding giggle.
“While I wait,” it continued, “perhaps I’ll pay Morganon another visit!”
“Leave them alone!” Jularra shrieked.
Vylas, riding just ahead of Jularra, looked back over his shoulder. At her side, Leona looked at her as well.
“The Voidwarden,” Jularra hollered over the horses. “It’s in my head.”
“Don’t give it your energy,” Leona shouted back. “We’ll deal with it soon enough.”
“It says it's going back to Morganon.”
Leona had no reply of reassurance. Nor did Vylas, who turned back around. All three focused on the trail ahead. It had started to grow steeper, and narrower.
***
The war in the valley saw both sides fully committed. The expertise of the Acorilinians was helping to even the odds against the enemy’s superior numbers, but there was little progress being made. Battlefield victories were pyrrhic. The Acorilinian infantry held their ground, but weren’t able to advance to the siege equipment or push Latham’s armies back. And for every catapult the Ridgerazers managed to knock out, a different catapult’s boulder found its way to the city’s walls.
New catapults, too, were creeping out from the mountain tunnels to replace those that were destroyed. The defense of Morganon could not sustain many more direct impacts from the siege equipment, and it would not be long before the attackers broke through to take advantage of the gaps in the wall.
While hope and skill helped keep Acorilinian morale elevated, a steady rumble in the ground began to erode the fighters’ focus.
The land started to shake. Distractingly at first, then violently. Shouts of alarm sounded from across the battlefield as the tremors rippled out towards the surrounding mountains. As the geological activity moved away from the valley, so too did its sounds fade.
A few seconds later, the sound erupted once again from the surrounding mountains.
Exploding out from the five tallest peaks were what resembled four massive fingers and a thumb, only instead of skin, the fingers were made of night. With dreadful implacability, this city-sized hand began to draw up and close as if the creature it belonged to was slowly gripping the valley in the confines of its palm.
The light of the land was suffocated by the hand’s monstrous, rolling darkness. A drained gray slowly began to replace the colors of life. Acorilinian, Torgurian, and Latham warrior alike stopped their fighting, peering up and around to try and determine what was happening. Once the entire valley was stifled in shade, the attacking forces started to transform in the eyes of the defenders.
Where one Spire had been fighting a particular Torgurian, her dead father snapped into her previous opponent’s place. Elsewhere, a Bedrock’s foes were replaced by his dead wife and teenaged son. As the dead supplanted the living, they immediately resumed the attack on their Acorilinian loved ones.
The shock of confusion and its impact upon the Acorilinians was catastrophic. Images of dead brothers, cousins, and spouses haunted the defenders, and for many, the mental violation proved too hard to overcome.
As they hesitated, mothers and sisters, sons and grandparents stabbed, sliced, and pierced the living to death. Those Acorilinians not caught off guard still felt their souls sink and hollow out as they had to fight their already-dead family. Through nausea and tears, Acorilinians across the field tore into their beloved dead, while the specters themselves screamed their confusion and despair—unaware as to how or why they had been ripped from the realm of death to attack their family, but unable to flee until they were killed once again.
***
While Morganon struggled against this new horror, Jularra, Vylas, and Leona raced up the final trail to the Vacant Grave.
Other than a few grunts or shouts at their horses to help direct them around the abrupt switchbacks, no one had spoken since the Voidwarden appeared to Jularra on the trail. As they finally crested the summit, Jularra felt her chest tighten as her hatred for the place clenched around her heart.
The hole down into the mountain came into view and the lone guard next to it fell to a knee. The riders swung off their horses.
Still kneeling, the guard looked up at them.
“Queen Jularra!” he exclaimed.
“Get back to Morganon,” she ordered. “The city’s under siege, and you’re more needed there.”
Confused, the guard stammered, “But I—”
“Get back to the city!”<
br />
She didn't spare him another glance as she walked by. Without a word, Vylas and Leona followed her. Jularra paused at the entrance just long enough to draw in a deep breath, then started cautiously down the stairs.
Jularra set the pace, with Vylas and Leona right behind her. As the three of them crept deeper and deeper into the mountain, the speed at which they descended began to slow.
“Jularra,” Vylas whispered.
She stopped without turning around. A single torch flickered flimsily nearby.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she whispered back. “I’ll try anything—fucking anything—but I don’t know where to start.”
“We need to somehow take its power,” came Leona's cool voice. “The pool? The other queens? There has to be a way.”
Jularra turned around slowly.
“If there's a way, I can't see it!” she hissed. Her whisper grew in volume as it scraped through the passage.
I calculate, think, plan, and consider all the fucking time.
And now I have no idea what to do.
“You may not know what to do right now,” Vylas soothed. “But remember, the Gift Gods said that your understanding of magic is complete.”
Vylas stepped closer to the weak torchlight and looked Jularra in the eye.
“Whatever needs to be done… you have the ability to do it.”
Regardless of whether that's true... I owe it to Acorilan to try.
Jularra dipped her chin in a quick nod and resumed her original speed through the tunnels. Apart from the few visitors and expected hints of filth earlier in the tunnels—just like the first time, and all the other times since—the way was clear. The passages eventually emptied altogether, allowing Jularra to speed through the tunnels until Vylas and Leona had trouble keeping up.
Jularra wasn’t intimidated as she had been when she was a child. She knew where she was going. She knew what she would find there. She was a grown woman, full of history, and magic, and power. She was eager to face the Voidwarden, and eager to try and destroy it. Her veins throbbed with adrenaline and the excitement of possibly freeing Acorilan for good.
But her thoughts overwhelmed her, and she felt herself losing focus in the dimly-lit corridor. She stumbled; her feet slid out from under her on the final set of steps approaching the Voidwarden’s chamber. Just like the first time. Her heart pounded as she went sliding down onto her palms.