by Isaac Hooke
Ziatrice hadn’t joined her troops, instead electing to run with him. Xaxia and Gwen remained with Malem as well. Abigail landed beside them, also taking a break from the fighting. She crushed a few tents in the process: no one was inside, luckily. Then again, maybe there had been someone—he couldn’t tell, not with the way those canopies were trampled almost completely flat. Balethorn hummed hungrily in his grip when the blade sensed the silver dragon, so Malem promptly sheathed the sword.
He finally stopped running when the tents surrounded him on all sides, providing the illusion of security, though in reality he was no safer than the boy who hid from the creatures of the night beneath his blankets.
Now that he had halted, he felt the earth shake in regular, well-spaced intervals beneath him. He could hear a powerful thud sourced somewhere in the distance.
“What’s that?” Gwen asked, her voice tinged with fright.
“It sounds like the footfalls of some approaching hill giant,” Xaxia said.
The next vibration was so strong it caused even the surrounding tents to shake.
“A very big hill giant,” Xaxia added.
Ziatrice turned toward the front line to the west. “It’s Vorgon. He approaches.”
“He’s never come this close to the front lines before…” Gwen said.
Ziatrice smiled grimly at that. Her blue face seemed unusually pale beneath the midday sun, so much so that Malem checked her energy bundle in his mind for signs of injury, but she seemed fine. Well, except for the raw fear that gripped her.
“He never had a reason to,” the night elf continued. “He was content to let his armies do the fighting while he pulled the strings from afar. But the slaying of King Barrowfore, one of his elite generals, has royally pissed him off, it seems.”
“He miscalculated,” Malem agreed. “He cut off his supply of vitality to Barrowfore, no doubt hoping I would wrap my will around the king’s mind so that he could attempt to trap me like he did when I Broke you. But he didn’t expect us to kill the Black Sword instead.”
“So, that’s why you didn’t want to Break him,” Ziatrice said.
The earth shook again.
He gazed toward the west, where the slight rise hid the armies of the Alliance deployed on the opposite slopes. He caught a glimpse of these massive wings of shadow, momentarily unfolding before retracting again. He saw the upper half of a huge, fiery ax as it swung skyward, only to vanish from view as it plunged downward.
He heard a thud even louder than before, and the earth shook even stronger, no doubt thanks to the impact of the ax. Beyond the rise, molten sparks momentarily geysered skyward like a volcano coughing magma.
“Uh, am I the only one who’s glad we’re not on the front lines right now?” Gwen asked.
“We should be there,” Malem said softly.
“No,” Ziatrice said.
He glanced at her in surprise. “Really? You’re not spurring me on, for once? What’s gotten into you? Where’s the Queen Ziatrice I know?”
The night elf ignored the rhetorical question. “You’re not ready to face Vorgon. Someday, perhaps. But not yet. If you had Broken Barrowfore…”
“Yeah, except you were the one who killed him before I could.”
She gave him a smarmy grin. “Sorry.”
Abigail had leaped to the top of the rise, and she raised her long, silvery neck beyond the crest so that she had a view of the battle beyond. Malem tapped into her vision, and shared it with Gwen and Ziatrice.
“Thanks,” Gwen said.
Vorgon stood there, before the front lines, a towering demon formed of darkness blacker than any night, and limned by blue flames. A pair of terrible horns curved from its head, folded wings protruded from its powerful back, thick arms hung to either side, and the knees of its huge legs bent backward like the hocks of a horse or goat. Thrusting malevolently from the base of its back, a long tail swung back and forth, striking down soldiers with great effect. The demon swung that ax with equal death-dealing ferocity.
From its chest, black threads suddenly launched en masse, lethal darts of mist that threaded through multiple soldiers at once, causing dark veins to spread rapidly across armor that was coated with Duramite to resist dragon breath. It also marred any exposed flesh so that the entire bodies of the stricken became black in moments, only to dissolve upon the wind like the ashes of a spent campfire. It was similar in effect to the Darkness that chased Malem every week to ten days, except perhaps magnified, at least in terms of delivery speed.
Malem could also feel the creature searching with its mind, trying to reach into him. He felt its tendrils wrap around his will, but he quickly slid free before they could close.
“Is this how it feels when Malem tries to Break you?” Xaxia asked.
“Exactly like this,” Gwen told her.
The Balor’s tendrils came back to try again, but Malem found he was able to shove back. He pushed hard, and when the tentacles went away, he instinctively folded the ghostly appendages of his will around his own mind, forming a protective shield.
Those tendrils came for him again, but this time passed right over him. He had effectively slammed the mental door shut on Vorgon. That had to be the same way Abigail and Gwen had shut out Malem when he’d first met each of them, what seemed so long ago. Something that full beasts and monsters couldn’t do when he touched them.
The human element, that’s the key with those two. And Ziatrice.
He returned his attention to the battle. The Alliance mages and the Metal dragons launched a constant barrage of magical attacks against the demonic creature that was Vorgon. Fire elementals attacked it at varying heights. Earth and rock elementals struck its feet. Magics wrought of ice, flame, and earth pummeled the length of its body.
Though the attacks seemed to have no external physical effect, they must have weakened the Balor, because to Malem’s relief, Vorgon finally turned back and began a slow retreat. When all the magical fire and fury of an entire army was focused against you, it was only a matter of time before you buckled, even if you were a Balor. Vorgon drew his strength from the underworld, and some suspected he could only store so much black power inside of himself at any given time before he had to go away and recuperate. Releasing all of those dark threads of magic couldn’t be easy on his reserves, either.
The Armies of the alliance followed him into no man’s land, refusing to let up, harrying him the whole way.
At least until a wave of Troglodons broke through the enemy lines to cover Vorgon’s retreat.
The grotesque, one-eyed creatures of the underworld launched ectoplasm at the Alliance troops, gluing in place any who were struck. The Troglodons were relatively shapeless, looking like big blobs surrounding an eye the size of a human head, and had to be killed by magical means—if attacked by sword, they merely split in two, doubling. The foot soldiers had to be careful not to allow the formless bodies to engulf them, because they wouldn’t be able to escape on their own if that happened, and they’d dissolve fairly rapidly while trapped within. Usually when Troglodons showed up to a battle, the field would be scattered with the gleaming white skeletons of men whose flesh had dissolved before the fighting was done.
The ranks of the Troglodons were bolstered by dire wolves howling madly as they raced into battle, and oraks riding pale horses at a gallop. Black and red dragons also joined the fray, tearing into the airborne Metals. The armies of the Alliance were successfully stayed, and Vorgon made good its escape.
The demon descended below a distant hollow well beyond enemy lines and vanished from view. Malem couldn’t help an involuntary exhale when that malignant blight upon this world vanished from his sight.
“Told you that would be fun,” Ziatrice said.
Abigail retreated from the top of the rise to join them. She remained a dragon, probably because she was a bit shy about her body in human form, especially considering she’d be naked immediately after transforming.
Xaxia glanced at
him. “You were sharing the dragon’s vision with the other two again, weren’t you?”
“Aw, feel left out?” Gwen told the bandit. “Maybe you should let him Break you.”
“Not for me, thanks,” Xaxia said. “Besides, I’m pure human, remember? He can’t Break me.”
“Not yet…” Ziatrice purred.
“I didn’t quite like the sound of her voice, there,” Xaxia said.
“Neither did I,” Malem commented.
“So that’s one less Black Sword marring the world, at least…” Abigail said.
“Vorgon will elevate another to take Barrowfore’s place, rest assured,” Ziatrice told her.
The silver dragon brought her head down to the night elf’s level. If Abigail wanted to, she could bite down on Ziatrice and swallow her whole. Especially considering the night elf was too weak to maintain her shield at the moment.
But Abigail wouldn’t do that, of course. Not while Ziatrice and her fought on the same team, at least.
“So this was all for nothing, you’re saying?” Abigail told her.
“No thanks to her.” Xaxia nodded at the night elf. “We came here to Break Barrowfore, and she went ahead and killed him so that Vorgon could just elevate another. If you ask me, she’s still in league with the enemy and just pretending to be on our side.”
Ziatrice gave her a withering look.
“She’s not in league with Vorgon,” Malem said. “If she was, I’d know it. Our minds are linked, remember. I can sense her deepest, darkest thoughts.”
“And my deepest, darkest inner desires,” the night elf queen said, her eyes momentarily darting to his crotch.
Malem pretended not to notice.
Other members of the Alliance who had been involved in the dwarf raid began to crest the rise, and they fanned out, heading toward their various tents to catch a moment’s rest.
“I am a bit surprised dwarves would dirty themselves to the level of fighting for a Balor,” Xaxia said. “Even if their king demanded it. Vorgon controls only the Black Sword, and not the individual dwarves, right?”
“That’s what I believe anyway,” Malem said.
“Yeah, so like I said, it strikes me as a bit odd,” the bandit continued.
“Unless the dwarves have sworn undying fealty to whoever is king,” Gwen said.
“There’s that, I suppose,” Xaxia agreed. She glanced at Ziatrice. “Then again, your night elves are doing it, too, so maybe it’s a thing among the lesser races.”
“Lesser?” Ziatrice said. “Night elves are superior to humans in all ways.” She glanced at Malem and her voice became that seductive purr once more. “Especially in bed.”
“That’s right, your whoreness, show him what you’re made of,” Xaxia said.
“She’s not a whore,” Gwen said.
Xaxia shrugged. “You should know, I suppose. Considering you share him with the dragon.”
Gwen shrugged. “I’d rather her than you.”
Xaxia pointed at the night elf. “And you’d prefer he slept with that creature to me, as well?”
Those words must have triggered something inside Ziatrice, because she unexpectedly swung her halberd far back.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! Malem sent her. Calm down. You can take a little verbal sparring, can’t you?
“I should strike you down where you stand,” Ziatrice told the bandit. “But I won’t. Because it would displease Malem.”
“That’s right, bow to your master’s whims,” Xaxia taunted her.
“All right, that’s enough you two,” Malem said. “We all need healing, a meal, and then a long rest. Not necessarily in that order. I don’t know where you get the energy to bicker among yourselves. Maybe I should take some vitality from all of you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned toward the center of camp and began walking. He was at the point where he didn’t care if they continued to spar behind him. He just hoped they didn’t kill each other. At least by removing himself from the equation, they wouldn’t try to show off. Or so went his thinking.
Luckily, they stopped their petty fighting and followed. He could sense the lot of them just behind. He didn’t detect Xaxia, of course, since she was completely human, but he heard her talking to Abigail in hushed tones, so she was there, too. From the way the Metal’s bundle of energy seemed suddenly reduced, he realized Abigail had returned to human form.
“What am I supposed to wear, I feel so exposed?” Abigail was saying.
“There are lots of tents around us,” Xaxia said. “Grab one of them and use it as a makeshift robe.”
He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the princess doing just that.
“Don’t look at me!” Abigail shouted at him.
He shook his head, unable to hold back a chortle, and continued walking.
He went to the series of white tents that had been raised near the center of the camp. He walked inside the largest, and took his place in one of the many lines. The women took different queues beside him.
When his turn finally came, he was led to a small alcove in the back, where an older woman in a white robe waited on a chair. She beckoned for Malem to take a seat in front of her, and he described his injuries, removing his caved helmet to reveal the bloody gash he’d taken from Barrowfore’s head-butt. He also mentioned the hammer blow to the ribs he’d endured.
The woman nodded compassionately. “You’ve been Healed before, yes?”
“I have,” he said.
“Good,” she said. “Ready yourself.”
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was coming.
She released ghostly threads of white light that wrapped around the wounds in his temple, and his ribs. He felt the sharp pain as those wounds were knitted by the light, and he gritted his teeth. Other healers had offered him sticks to chomp down on in the past, but he usually bit a little too hard, and had even lost a tooth that way, so it was probably for the best that this particular healer hadn’t given him one.
And then it was over. Malem slumped forward. If he had felt tired before, now he felt downright bone-weary.
The woman was what was known as a Camp Healer. There were others who fought with the troops on the front lines, known as Battle Healers. Magically mending wounds in battle wasn’t without risks: it drained not only the mage, but the target, too, and momentarily incapacitated both while the magic was in progress. There weren’t enough Battle Healers out there to help everyone, hence the need for the Camp Healers—usually older mages who were too frail for the front lines.
He chewed the endurance herbs the woman offered, a mixture of coca leaves and other stimulants that were illegal in peacetime, but the herbs did nothing to alleviate the sudden heaviness he felt.
“Get yourself some food, and some rest,” the woman ordered. She had shoved a substantial serving of endurance herbs into her mouth herself, he noticed.
He forced himself to his feet, thanked the woman, and made his way out.
He spat out the bolus of herbs into the provided barrel when he exited. Gwen, Abigail and Ziatrice had already finished their own healing sessions and waited nearby.
“Xaxia?” he asked.
“Still inside,” Gwen said.
He nodded, and then swept past the three of them, heading toward his tent.
“You’re not coming to eat?" Gwen called after him.
“In a little bit,” he said. “Start without me. I’m taking a nap first.”
He heard hurried footsteps.
“Mind if I join you?” Ziatrice said, coming alongside.
“That’s all right,” Malem said. “I need to rest. That healing really drained me. Sorry.”
Ziatrice pouted. “Another time, then.”
She left him, making her way toward the cook fires.
What about me? Gwen sent hopefully.
Later, he replied over their mental link.
He fielded a similar request from Abigail, and also respectfully denied her.
<
br /> He reached his tent and went inside. He sealed the flap and lay down, planning to rest for only a moment. He thought he was too tired even to nap, but when he closed his eyes, he fell asleep almost immediately.
His last thought before he went under was: Wait. I can’t sleep. I didn’t even eat.
But his body ignored him.
4
Malem awoke to a strange sensation between his thighs. Pleasure filled him, of a kind he hadn’t experienced since the days of his youth, when the Darkness let him be for six months, and he spent his days romancing the beautiful harlots of Redbridge.
He glanced down to see Ziatrice’s blue head between his legs. She was working him with her mouth, her eyes filled with lascivious desire. Women had pleasured him like this quite a few times in the past, of course, but what she was doing was unlike anything he’d felt before. He wasn’t sure how she was doing it, but it felt incredible.
He grabbed onto her locks and yanked tightly, enough to cause her pain. She grimaced, and her expression became confused for a moment, as if she thought he was going to punish her. Then he slammed her into him and used his grip on her hair to guide her rhythms. She surrendered eagerly.
When he felt himself close to release, he pulled her off and threw her onto the floor of the tent. She had removed his boots, and the leggings of his dragon scale armor. She’d similarly doffed her skirt of black blades, which rested on a pile next to the entrance, leaving only her panties and the green and purple corset.
Thoughtful of her.
He entered her hard, and she moaned enthusiastically, wrapping her hands around his buttocks to pull him tight against her. He began to pound.
Everything was forgotten. The pain and suffering of the battle he had only just fought. The near defeat at the hands of Barrowfore. The approach and then retreat of Vorgon. All gone in this one moment of sheer bliss.