Death Spawn backed off around them, forming two partially formed circles along their flanks and pressed back against the base of the Great Tree. The arrows from above came down in a flurry as the Death Spawn were clustered in tight around the tree. They were rabid dogs that needed to be put down.
“Burn!” Walter roared, eye smoking light and fire. White dragons spread up from the water, starting at their center and spreading out to the far edges. Ghostly images of dragons formed in Walter’s vision, blinking flaming wrath over his enemies. Water vaporized into boiling steam, marring skin and heating up their spiked armor. “I don’t need a fucking army! I am the army!” he screamed. His lips curled back into a mad smile.
He fanned his fingers and tens of flaming darts hissed over the water, piercing through chests and burrowing fiery holes through limbs. They were trapped between the fires burning on the Great Tree behind them, between them, and the fire Walter hurled at their front lines. For a second, he started to feel what might have been concern for how it must feel to be burning alive. Then he thought about what they did to Breden, to his home, to Nyset’s family. Everyone he knew was dead and gone because of them.
The ripping teeth, ravaging claws, and mindless fury of the Shadow Realm filled him up with a rage that eclipsed any sense of compassion for those in the conflagration. Fire was the tool of his trade, his carpenter’s hammer, his smith’s ingots. Boiling bodies stumbled for him, cloaked in flames, armor molten. The acrid stench of burning flesh filled the air. When would that smell become sweet? he wondered.
He slashed with both arms and arcs of fire cut bloody swathes through their shrieking forms, dismembering limbs and spilling out with offal. A Cerumal staggered on wobbly legs, its eye hanging from its socket, blood burning and smoking on the hissing water. Fire filled his world; ruining their demonic shells becoming his true purpose.
Pain sprung to life within his flesh from unseen weapons, a background note to the madman’s laughter beating through his chest. Weapons fell from blackened hands, charred flesh crumbled into dust. Grimbald seemed to have created a wide distance between them, standing at least fifteen paces away now.
Walter caught sight of something strange standing out from his body. “What are…?” He stopped, seeing thorned Death Spawn arrows bristling from his chest, arms, and legs. He eyed the curved thorns lining an arrow’s shaft, making them nearly impossible to remove without causing terrible damage. “You think this will stop me?” he screamed. Tears of pain spilled out from the ragged shell of his missing eye, curling down his cheek. The Phoenix could heal him, but nothing would stop the pain from reaching his nerves.
“Oh, my, Walt! Are you alright?” Grimbald yelled from somewhere nearby.
The world seemed to slow as if trudging through molasses. Walter swallowed, saw Grimbald’s mighty arm hacking down through a Black Wynch, splitting it from shoulder to narrow hips. Both of its halves violently squirmed, arms slashing at the air with its dying shriek. Rivulets of blood streamed between the muscular furrows of his veined arms, readjusting for his next opponent. He was marred and nicked, no fatal cuts that Walter could see. That was good because he had a lot of healing to do.
“Walter,” Grimbald stomped up beside him, booted a severed leg out of his way. “You- you’re hurt.”
“Watch out,” Walter managed to croak, pain boiling over his body and cinching down around his throat. “Protect me while I focus on healing, I’ll keep the fire wall up.”
“You got it, Walt.”
Walter closed his eyes, heard Grimbald charging through sloshing water and metal clanging on metal. Never thought I’d see the day where closing my eyes to meditate was advantageous, he thought. The Phoenix swirled in his mind, encircled within the incredible jaws of the Dragon. The Phoenix was made of an ethereal bluish light, dispelling the darkness around it. The mouth of the Dragon was encased in flames that lapped at the edges of his mind’s eye. A soft crooning sang out from the Phoenix’s parted beak, melding into a calming song. Do you present us a sacrifice? The voices of the Dragon and the Phoenix asked in unison. A sacrifice for great power. Power to slay your enemies. Make them return to oblivion.
No, Walter answered in his mind. No sacrifices, unless you can take them, he projected to the gods the images of the Death Spawn burning before him. Take them.
Not a sacrifice. Do not toy with us, mortal. What has been given can be taken, the voice of the Dragon roared with a hidden violence.
What has been done can be undone, the Phoenix softly hummed.
Why… how am I here? he thought.
You request the healing of mended life, the Phoenix responded.
How is this time different than any other time I’ve needed you to heal me?
It is not, the Phoenix said.
You summoned us to hold palaver, the Dragon rumbled.
I’m sorry. I don’t know what — why I did, Walter thought.
We are one, the Phoenix hummed.
Death bonds us, the Dragon said. Open your soul windows, for harm falls upon the host.
The host? What—?
Walter’s eyes snapped open, the world of fire and screaming returning with renewed clarity. He was a pincushion of blue beams of light, ejecting at least twenty Death Spawn arrows from his body and sending them tumbling into the bog.
“You’re back?” Grimbald rammed his shoulder into a Cerumal’s, sending both of them stumbling.
Walter waved his arms in front of his eye, marveling at the shrinking shafts of light closing up all the wounds. Whooping cheers erupted from the branches high above. Walter looked up and thought he might have seen fists punching the air. The light streaming from his flesh reflected from the water like glass in the sun. He grinned down at it and thought he might have been able to see the Phoenix’s feathers whirling in the light.
“Walt!” Grimbald slashed with one axe, missing and thudding into sludge. He hacked down with the other, bouncing from a massive sword lined with saw-like teeth. Grimbald kicked, throwing the Cerumal splashing onto its back. “Get it together!” Grimbald’s arm slapped him hard on the back.
The hypnotic trance of the Phoenix’s healing broke, injecting the reality of war into his body. “I’m back, sorry.” He shook his head, righting his mind.
“Not many left. Don’t think we needed Scab and his crew with you here.”
“I’d be dead without you, trust me on this. And it’s not over yet…” Walter said, nodding at the dark forms spreading out from the other side of the tree. There seemed to be just as many Death Spawn spilling out around the Great Tree as there were on this half.
“Shit,” Grimbald breathed. “How you holding up?” Corpsemaker drew an arc in the air, chopping into the midsection of the downed Cerumal. Blood sprayed out over Grimbald’s face and armor. The Cerumal writhed and shrieked, hands trying to push its split torso back together. Its spilled intestines hung out in red, dangling coils.
Walter spat a glob of foamy spit. “Tired. Healing took a lot out of me. Didn’t even see the arrows come before they hit me.” Walter threw himself into the water to avoid a thrown spear. From the ground, he hurled a fireball into a running Cerumal’s leg, blowing it off at the hip and sending it tottering over. The creature angrily squawked and thrashed at him from the bog, its eyes pulsing with a hot glow.
“Not surprised. You went into that damned blood rage you’re so fond of.”
“Blood rage?” Walter let the wall of fire fade, as all that remained now were roasted bodies and a few staggering forms, soaked in fire.
“Let’s talk about it later?” Grimbald asked, resting his weapons by his side. He leaned on an axe haft, his barrel chest heaving for air. “Not the best time for a discussion, you think?”
“Mhm,” Walter nodded at him. “The rest are coming, get ready. No resting yet.”
Grimbald chuckled. “Thanks for the keen advice.”
“Anytime,” He grinned. It was a stupid, pointless conversation, he knew. It served as a re
minder that he was still alive, still in the land of the living. Maybe it did something for Grimbald too. Walter met his eyes for a couple seconds and they exchanged nods.
“We’re a couple of mad men, you know?” Grimbald threw his axes up to rest over his shoulders, stared out at the Great Tree. “Right fucking mad.”
“Suppose we are. Walter Glade and Grimbald Landon… the plaques will read: ‘two crazy fuckers thought they could stop an army of Death Spawn single-handedly.’”
Grimbald let out a rumbling belly laugh. “It is fun though, isn’t it? Never thought I’d say that this… this is living.”
Walter snickered.
The water bristled with smoking bodies, dropped weapons, and streams of blood swirling about their boots. Sweat, mud, and blood speckled their faces in a grisly mix. It was an odd moment, waiting for your enemy to circle around and face you. There was nothing to do but wait, though. A smoking form leaning on a spear collapsed into the water like a crumbling statue. They could’ve gone and met them head on, but that would be a waste of precious energy and would leave less time for arrows from the Great Tree to thin the herd.
“More!” a voice shouted from above
“More come!” another voice cried out from the Great Tree.
“Where do the vile creatures come from?” someone shouted.
“You don’t say?” Walter muttered.
“Must have a good seeing eye lens up there,” Grimbald smirked.
The Death Spawn formed into two masses of dulled iron on either side of the Great Tree’s base. They roared at seeing their fallen brothers, smashing swords, hooks, blades and spears against their armor in a furious din. Four or five pink jets of light stabbed down from above, striking the massive roots near the Death Spawn. It looked like it could’ve been the light of the Phoenix, but he knew it wasn’t.
“Pretty,” Grimbald snorted. “Magics?”
Walter narrowed his eyes. The ground rumbled. Trapped air bubbles welled up to the bog’s surface.
“What is it?” Grimbald asked.
“Don’t know, maybe magic,” Walter said.
The Death Spawn looked just as perplexed, squawking nervously and making space around the roots hit with the strange light. One of the roots vibrated for a second before springing from the ground, throwing up a heavy sheet of mud over the Death Spawn and tossing a few to the ground. The root was more than thirty feet long. The end of the mossy root was lined with smaller roots as thick and long as men. The smaller roots waved in the air, lashing out at Death Spawn and snaring them around the neck, body, and legs. They shrieked, their screams almost loud enough to injure. Walter remembered the first time he’d heard their terrible screaming. It was the day they had spilled into his village during the Festival of Flames, screaming, killing, taking them all by surprise. It was incredible how one short string of events could change the course of your life, he thought. The root snatched a few more Cerumal in its grasp, plunged back into the bog with at least ten Death Spawn coiled in its snares.
Death Spawn hurled spears and stabbed at the wood, seeming hard as iron. The ground vibrated under Walter’s boots again as another incredible root ominously rose into the fog. The beasts screamed. It was a new sound he’d never heard them make before. It might have been terror if he thought they could feel such an emotion.
“What do we do?” Grimbald asked, letting out a heavy exhale.
“Let’s try to pick them off around the edges, stay well clear of those roots. Don’t think they’ll be able to tell the difference between friend or foe.”
“No. Why even try to get close? Let’s just let those roots finish ‘em off, wait it out over here. You’d have to have a broken brain to go near those things.” Grimbald backpedaled a few steps from the Great Tree.
“Shit. Maybe you’re right,” Walter peered back at the bog’s edges, nothing but shadows, vines, and trees. When was Scab’s betrayal written? How long had he kept up the guise? Walter turned back and a group of Death Spawn were sloshing towards them, ignoring the roots. They were led by a Black Wynch at the back, shrieking murder.
“Looks like they did they the deciding for us,” Grimbald said.
“So it does.” Walter tilted his chin up, tugged on more of the Dragon. “Axes, I like your style.” Walter’s sword of fire became an axe the size of Corpsemaker, its edges flickering with Dragons biting at the air. An unexpected feeling of dread washed over him.
Something glimmered in the air. A ball of violet light hovered over the bog in front of the advancing Death Spawn, casting its beautiful glow upon the water’s surface. The beasts stopped in their tracks. Even the Black Wynch halted its incessant talon whipping orchestration. The orb stretched into a razor thin line of purple fire, white at the edges. The end points started spinning in a counter-clockwise rotation, revealing a world of shattered stones, crumbled spires, and burning fires beyond it.
“What—” Walter said, his voice going dry as sand.
“Portal,” Grimbald grunted.
“Shit,” Walter hissed. “Now what?” His throat itched like fingers clawing at his neck.
A feminine figure shining in gold and emeralds stepped through the portal and into the bog, though not without a touch reluctance at placing her shining boot into its waters. Her skin was white as a dove’s. Walter saw she wore intricately woven golden wire securing emeralds over her round breasts and hips, the rest of her mostly bare. Over her shoulders was a heavy fur cloak that trailed to the bottom of the bog, darkening at the bottom where it drank up the water. It was secured by a golden chain with an emerald at the clasp the size of a pigeon’s egg.
The woman took a few steps towards him, her face impassive. She stopped and placed a hand on a wide hip, kicked out to one side. The start of a triumphant smile touched her lips. Her leather boots rose up to her knees, trimmed with golden filigree. Her eyes glowed with a soft violet light he associated with one place alone, the Shadow Realm. Her face was narrow, jawline hard, mouth small and lips plump. Her straight obsidian hair trailed down to her backside, shining with the light of her eyes at the edges.
A root plunged into the water behind her and this group of Death Spawn, attacking those foolish enough to try to fight it. It crashed down with their puny forms writhing in its clutches, cutting off their screams with watery graves. An ashen arm and a leg squirmed above the water, thrashing at lily pads.
“What-what is she?” Grimbald stammered, taking a courageous step forward, axes held across his body.
“Not sure. Not a friend, I’d guess,” Walter said as casually as he could muster. Someone had to be the glue that would hold them together.
“At last, we finally meet,” her cool voice said. “You have brought pains for the Great Lord Asebor, the ruler of this world.” She took a few steps closer through the bog. Globs of mud found their way onto her porcelain thighs. “I shall give you the chance to bow before me. Submit and yield to the demon god and you’ll not be made a Norm, rendered powerless as the sheep of this world. You could even, perhaps, join us if he could forgive you.”
Walter sucked the foamy spit from the sides of his cheeks and tried to will it to cover his throat so he could speak. “Who are you?”
“Why? Well, it doesn’t matter.” She licked her lips, giving them a glistening sheen. “I am the Death Stealer to some, Alena to some in this age. I have had many names over the ages… many forms.” She traced a hand between her breasts, fingers partially covered with strange gold rings molded to look like talons. A red line bloomed under her skin around the flawless edge of a breast.
“You’re responsible for Scab?” Walter nodded back to the spot where Scab had left them.
“Who? Oh, the mercenary cretin? The one who traveled with you?” Alena grinned. “A most distasteful fellow. I suppose that sometimes we must put aside our notions of who we should parley with.”
Walter folded his arms and she stepped closer, less than fifteen paces away now. “Stop. Don’t come any closer.” Walt
er flared the fire in his eye, flashing with brilliance reflecting from all of her gold. She must have had all manner of tricks and he needed to keep her distant. She kept trying to bridge the gap between them. A step here, a step there, and before he knew it, those talons would be in his neck.
“My apologies. Can’t we speak… as friends? We’re a lot alike, you know.”
“We’re nothing alike,” Walter growled.
“More than you’d know.” Alena grinned, blinking her hooded eyes. Her eyebrows were razor thin and arched up at the ends. She gestured with her white arm. “We both serve masters much more powerful than ourselves, we’ve killed hundreds that have stood in our way, we both have an insatiable hunger for vengeance, to inflict our pains upon the world. Does that sound… familiar?”
“I-we’re nothing like you. All we want is peace, but you can’t have that.” He shook his head. “The time for peace has long passed. Passed the day you and these fucking creatures attacked my village,” Walter said.
“Creatures, men… all the same, really.” Alena pushed her cloak back over her shoulders and puffed her chest out. “Yes, you can’t blame your bandit man, though, can you?” She tilted her head and a string of black hair crossed over her white stomach. “You weren’t going to pay him and we… could, much more than you agreed to, I might add. He wasn’t entirely too difficult to dissuade.”
Walter and Grimbald shared a glance. Grimbald’s icy eyes were wide, his massive jaw squirming with tension.
“We should have expected that. Stupid, really. I’m glad he’s happy, though. Truly, it makes knowing who should be on the receiving end of my wrath that much easier.” Walter tried to mirror her casual tone, but it came out all warbling
“Oh, he is. He’ll have enough marks to drink.” She brushed the mud from her thighs. “And fuck away the rest of days, I gather. Going to get himself a nice place in Eagle’s Edge.”
Walter grinned, knowing where Scab was filled him with its fire. There will be a nice place for Scab in Eagle’s Edge, burning on my sword. “You marched through a small village to the southwest, Breden. Didn’t you?”
A New Light (The Age of Dawn Book 5) Page 28