by Dan O'Brien
The goye, the designation for a troop of Umordoc, descended with a predator’s speed. Suddenly, E’Malkai felt like he had gone deaf, the world around him becoming surreally quiet.
Arivene’s mouth opened wide, a scream echoing in the silence. The curve of her lip and the glassiness of her eyes knew the horror of what was to come.
The goye swarmed around the youth.
The sea of black fur and dark pink flesh flooded his vision, and he swung the blade as best he could amidst the flurry. Dark green fluids splattered across his face as he tore into their ranks. He felt the heat of their lifeblood on his face, on his skin.
His mind would not relent.
Before long his balance was compromised, and the world spun, the ceiling dominating his view now. He realized that he had been knocked down by one of them. The humanity of the face surprised him. Thoughts of Elcites made E’Malkai’s mind wander, drifting to a distant time and place from where he was.
Reality zoomed back into perspective as the Umordoc bellowed. Its rank breath made E’Malkai turn as he held his hands against the chest of the creature. The point of his weapon was held by the beast.
E’Malkai twisted his neck as he fought to regain control. Glancing sideways, he saw that Arile had glanced his way and was knee-deep in the Umordoc. Some were slain at his feet, others brandished weapons and roared.
E’Malkai’s muscles strained as he fought the embrace of the Umordoc. The point of its weapons neared his face. His eyes intensified as he found that he was losing the struggle. He craned his head again and saw Arivene.
A fearful look was spread across her face.
An Umordoc reached for her.
She seemed so small in its shadow.
A cold shiver passed over E’Malkai, a feeling of hatred and unadulterated pain at her writhing beneath the grip of the enemy. She looked at him and her eyes pleaded, begged him to help.
It came then.
He could not hold back any longer.
The Umordoc on top of him leapt back with pain and glowered down at E’Malkai. The youth was still on his back, but his body seemed consumed in flames. Strange wisps and tendrils of emerald and white poured from him.
His eyes formed into white, listless globes much like the empty sockets of shadow that made up the Umordoc faces. He rose from the ground, levitating without bodily movement.
The other Umordoc backed away as well; their attention was focused on E’Malkai as he turned to face them.
Arile was absorbed in his battle. As the Umordoc continued to back away, he stared at E’Malkai; tendrils of energy flashed and swirled around his body. The Umordoc near Arivene backed away, and she fell aside.
She reached back with her arms to break her fall and then glared at the Umordoc with uncertainty. Turning to E’Malkai, she saw what had become of him. “E’Malkai,” whispered Arivene.
She glanced at the others, before stumbling toward him. Reaching her hand out, her fingers passed through the aura around him. Her eyes became glassy.
Sorrow consumed her face.
“What has happened to you?”
E’Malkai continued to stare forward.
A surge of energy fluxed out toward the Umordoc.
“I have been given no choice.”
Arile approached him and placed a hand on Arivene’s shoulder. She turned. Her eyes were soft and scared. “This is something he has to do,” he whispered, not taking his eyes from the youth.
Arivene allowed herself to be turned away. She looked at the back of E’Malkai, at the flare of his pants and shirt swirling around him. The Umordoc were hesitant. Their bodies were hunched and tense as an animal would be had it encountered another hunter in the woods.
They sniffed the air cautiously as E’Malkai extended his right hand slowly and opened his fist, flexing his fingers through the open air. Motionless, they all gave him the same blank stare. One of them twitched; a light motion of its shoulder.
Energy erupted from E’Malkai’s hands, screamed across the air, and grasped the beast. The empty pocket of energy lifted the creature and eviscerated it. A light crawled beneath its skin and erupted from its mouth. It disintegrated into a pile of ash that smoldered as it settled to the ground.
E’Malkai turned his dead stare on the others. His face was barren except the bulbous white eyes riddled with emerald veins of energy. He spoke, his voice echoing
“You should not have come here.”
They seemed to back away slightly.
Their attention was focused on the scattered ash that had been their brethren. Snorts and growls erupted from their lips. They moved around among themselves. Looking from one to the other, they uttered a collective howl and charged. Eleven darkened bodies converged on E’Malkai, their sickle weapons swinging.
The metal curve of the sickles shattered as they struck the outer shell of E’Malkai’s energy. They held the splintered shafts in their hands in awe, if their faces were capable of such an expression.
E’Malkai grabbed one by the face, his hand spread wide over as much of the creature’s features as he could. The energy resonated from his shoulder through his hand like a cannon, disintegrating the bone and flesh.
As the youth’s hand came free, he landed and snapped forward. His energized fist shot through another chest. The force and velocity of the strike burned the wound shut, cauterizing it. He ducked and spun around until he was beneath the next and lifted up. E’Malkai caught the third across the chin and lifted him from the ground.
The creature’s face was no more as it fell back to the ground in convulsions. He continued as thus. His leg snapped around as he carried into the next Umordoc, catching it across the side. The force sent the creature several feet before it came to a halt against one of the stone walls of the caverns.
The remainder turned as if to run, and E’Malkai extended his hand once more. Rings of power swirled over his body, some darker, some lighter. His hand opened, emerald and white lightning crawling across his fingertips. Leaping like electricity, the energy consumed the receding goye.
Their bodies disappeared as the youth breathed out, his control absolute. He stepped forward. His feet scorched the rocky floor at his feet. The High Warrior, larger than the others, stood at the head of what remained. The youth was their death incarnate, the embodiment of the Ai’mun’hereun in their eyes.
It took a feral howl of the High Warrior to make them stand their ground. His grunted words were unintelligible to all save Arile, who at the moment was rather silent and wide-eyed.
Many within the Fallen shared his awe.
“Your death will be a ward against your kind coming to this place,” echoed E’Malkai, the gravity of his words not lost on the creature.
The High Warrior stood his ground. His sickle dug into the earth as Arile often did to show his easiness; or uneasiness as it were. “He––say––you come,” gargled the High Warrior in the language of the Fallen, the words taking an incredible effort from the beast.
“Your Gagnion’Fe’rein is not on this planet.”
The High Warrior nodded.
“Your god did not come here with the Beast.”
The two faced each other without fear.
The High Warrior nodded once more. He picked up his weapon in one hand and beat the other against his chest. The thump echoed in the silence of the room. The only other sound was the crackle of the field around E’Malkai.
The High Warrior roared.
The sound was louder than any that the others had produced before their death. The High Warrior charged as they had, his weapon extended into the air as he rushed. The youth stood still, each of his hands rising slowly, straight-armed out in front of him. A dome formed around his hands, a half-circle that curled around his body. The smooth surface was extended toward the charging figure of the High Warrior.
The energy did not jump like electricity as it had before; rather, it burst forth in a beam of light that consumed the High Warrior mid-stride. His bone
s glowed beneath his flesh as they separated into two entities, one in front of the other, and then vanished as the energy dissipated.
E’Malkai lowered his hands to his sides.
The remaining Umordoc turned and fled, escaping into the tunnels toward the entrance as fast as they could. E’Malkai moved forward, stepping instead of teleporting, for he did not yet possess the restraint necessary to wield that power. He turned and looked down at the slender fingers of the hand that had held him.
He saw the fear-stricken face of Arivene.
Her wide eyes looked at him in shock and awe.
“What?” he managed.
His voice had returned.
E’Malkai shrugged and then bent forward, his hands at his temples. He threw his head back as the energy receded from his body. It sluiced from the top of his head and over his frame as if it were skin being ripped from his bones.
After it dispersed, he fell to his knees.
Steam rose from him.
He clutched the sides of his head. His hair was wet against his skull, and pieces of his clothing smoldered. “My mind is on fire,” he murmured from beneath his hands.
Arivene bent close.
Her crimson hair fell over her shoulders like a shield. Her brown eyes sparkled as she met the worn and wasted eyes of E’Malkai. “They are gone now. It is gone now.”
E’Malkai gasped like he had not breathed in some time. Pushing the hair back from his face, he stood up and looked around as if seeing it again for the first time. “I saw you. You were in pain. Anger consumed me, took control of something inside me, something powerful.”
She nodded slowly and allowed him to use her hand to steady himself. Arile came from behind them in the shadows, a look of contemplation on his face.
He moved around in front of E’Malkai. Lowering himself to one knee, he bowed his head. “I pledge my life and entrust those who I love to the Ai’mun’hereun.”
E’Malkai looked at him in shock.
Looking at the others of the Fallen, their blanks stares told him nothing. Some of them fell to one knee as well and murmured as Arile had. Soon, they all prostrated themselves before the youth. Their words echoed in the cavern––even Higald was among them. E’Malkai looked down at Arivene, and she averted her eyes and bowed as well. The same words rolled from her lips.
The Final War had truly begun.
ⱷ
Fairhair
Lieutenant Fairhair, loyal to the late Field General Lassen, previously of the Stone Tower of Culouth, shoveled food into his mouth as if he were indeed the starving refugee of which he looked the part. Fairhair’s golden hair was cropped short out of necessity. The trek had proven fatal for his vanity.
Xi’iom and the others had returned without incident, though Illigard was not without its losses. Domaen had fallen and with him all his men. The circumstances were strange: there was only ash and brittle pieces of bone that remained when Xi’iom and his men had come upon them.
“Field Marshal T’elen wishes to speak with you, just as she did several hours ago when we arrived. You will find that it is best not to keep her waiting. She can become rather cross when made to wait,” cautioned Xi’iom, though he could not hide the smirk that arose when looking upon the comical appearance of the lieutenant.
His hair seemed darker now that it was cut close to his scalp. The bulge of his eyes and point of nose seemed more pronounced. His eyes rose from the near frantic pace at which he ate and looked at the commander with the best sullen glare that he could muster.
“It feels like I haven’t eaten in days,” he whined.
“You must have been well-fed where you came from, lieutenant. My men and I have survived on little more than what you have eaten, and we are not starving as you appear to be.”
Fairhair threw his fork into his food and pushed his chair back as he stood up with a fretful sigh. “Fine, this food is cold anyways.”
The men across the bar flashed him a strange look and returned to their vices as Xi’iom nodded. He motioned for the lieutenant to lead the way.
Winter had settled in Illigard with a sweeping gesture. Its position promised snowfall more than anything else, though they were spared the erratic and relentless winds that could be found deeper into the swamps.
They approached a crude metallic building that served as the war chambers for Illigard. Fairhair grimaced as he approached the structure. He knew of T’elen’s temper. She was well-respected and feared among her peers––for good reason.
Xi’iom grasped the door handle and pulled it free of the icy buildup that had taken residence along the door frame. He held it open as the lieutenant stepped into the musty darkness within. The door shut with a thick sound. Xi’iom entered, brushing past Fairhair and moving into the short hallway that led into the next room.
A thick oak table was placed at the center.
T’elen stood abreast the far side.
Her white battle gear was stained with red splotches. There had been a skirmish north of Illigard when a transport vehicle coming from Duirin had been attacked by Culouth forces. Lucky for Illigard, and unlucky for Culouth, T’elen happened to be travelling with the transport.
The disdain in her face was not well-hidden as she looked up from the wrinkled map that she held firmly underneath each palm. Her hair was pulled back as it always was. It was rumored that her hair had been taken down only once, and that was before the death of her first lover.
Leane stood to the right of her.
Her role of late was commander, not lady-in-waiting or worried mother as many had seen her. She wore a long weave of dark fabric fitted for her form, knee-high boots, and silver edges at her wrists and neckline.
A grim smile spread across her lips.
“About damn time,” muttered T’elen, motioning them forward.
Elcites moved behind Leane as if he were her shadow. His duties as wall guard were simple: allocation of soldiers and guardian to the mother of the Ai’mun’hereun. His arms seemed never to uncross from in front of his chest. His eyes followed everything and everyone, especially the gaunt figure of Fairhair as he passed.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I was hungry,” replied Fairhair as he rubbed his stomach to accentuate his meaning.
Leane rolled her eyes and snapped a finger at him. “Rather amusing, but the information you have is no longer our only source.”
Fairhair was shocked. “What are you talking about? General Lassen sent me,” returned Fairhair, his mirth and joy evaporating instantly.
T’elen stepped forward.
The click of her boots captured his attention. “Another has painted you as a traitor––had you perhaps come immediately this could have been avoided.”
The interior of the war room seemed more like a dungeon than anything else. The high ceiling was littered with torches. The walls looked like they were constructed of stone, the familiarity a comfort for the lieutenant.
“There is no other person. He sent me, personally.”
T’elen shrugged.
Waving her hand, another of the soldiers disappeared into the darkness at the back of the room. “We would have you know that this man is unreliable at best. That being said, you are still the enemy until you prove otherwise,” spoke Leane, the venom in her voice silencing him.
The soldier returned with a craven man in tow. A strangled mass of hair and torn clothing piled in layers emerged. His cold eyes seemed lifeless.
Fairhair snapped his fingers and pointed at the man, recalling a memory. “I know this idiot,” shouted the lieutenant, hoping his revelation would absolve him of their distrust. “He’s just some drunk.”
T’elen nodded. His admonition had meant little. “He was indeed, and what a story he has to tell,” she replied as she pushed him ahead gruffly.
Fredrick’s eyes opened wide as he looked at the lieutenant. He turned back to T’elen with fear: here indeed was the choice between the lesser of two evils. “I came from the Stone Tower.”
Fairhair looked from the Field Marshal to Leane, and then back to Fredrick. He did not understand what Fredrick could have said that would make them question his mission. “Well, get on with it,” pressed Fairhair.
Fredrick gulped before he started and turned to T’elen, reaching out with his hands. “Can’t I have a drink first?” he pleaded.
The shallow depths of his cheeks added to his desperation. T’elen knocked away his hand with enough force to spin him. He bowed a few times, realizing that there would be no negotiation. “Start with why you were in the Stone Tower,” ordered T’elen.
The drunkard swallowed. “I was there because I was kicked out of Culouth, and then Duirin. It was the next closest place,” he answered with a half-whine.
T’elen turned to Fairhair.
“Do you know that to be true?” she demanded.
The lieutenant shrugged. “Could be. I only saw him a couple of times in the tavern. He never said much, just watched from a back corner.”
T’elen nodded and then turned back to Fredrick.
“Explain to him why you have come here.”
Fairhair felt it then: this was what had changed. This is where the story was different. The lieutenant remained silent and stared at the drunkard.
Fredrick shuffled and wrung his hands together. “I left because there was dissension within the ranks of the Stone Tower. That man right there killed the Field General. I fled, feared for my life,” he replied with a shaky voice.
He was unable to meet the lieutenant’s eyes.
“That is a lie,” hissed Fairhair and moved toward him.
Xi’iom restrained him, shaking his head in warning.
T’elen ignored him and moved closer to Fredrick. Though the height difference was obvious, it seemed as if it was T’elen who towered over the pitiful Fredrick. “Tell us why the lieutenant would do that to a trusted friend?”
Fredrick squirmed more and shook his head.
Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about it.
Leane moved forward. “This is important, Fredrick. The lieutenant says something else happened. We need to hear you repeat what you said before,” added Leane. She allowed her voice to soften despite the fire in her eyes.