Death

by Rosie Scott

  “Don't sound so excited about it,” Nyx teased her.

  The banter of my friends faded into the background as I scanned the area for a way to move my men upward until my gaze caught on my lover. Cerin fought just ahead of us since his corpses were on the frontlines and he continually shielded them. His silver eyes were energetic with a high as he parried the blow of a sword. One of Cerin's corpses stabbed his foe from behind, eager to protect its master. With the dwarf distracted by the dead, Cerin screamed with exertion, slicing his scythe just between the foe's lowest rib and pelvic bone. Leather armor and hardy muscle prevented the blade from reaching the spine, so Cerin put a thick bloody boot on the enemy's thigh, keeping him from falling forward as the scythe jerked roughly through flesh and organs. As soon as the weapon reached the vertebrae, the dwarf slacked with death and dropped his sword. Cerin held his scythe with both hands and kicked the body off the blade.

  My lover glanced back at me, sensing my stare. Blood splattered his pale face and hand as he pointed past him and down the nearest street. “There's a ramp that leads up a building over here. Looks interconnected at the top.”

  I led my men forward to catch up and assess the path. A stone ramp led up the left side of a high-rise just beyond a few dozen enemy soldiers, where it twisted high around the building and connected to bridges on many corner landings. Even if it didn't offer a direct route to the royal district, it was a step closer.

  “Thank you, my love,” I told Cerin, my tone slightly teasing.

  “I figured I'd help you with something other than giving you a place to rest your eyes,” Cerin replied facetiously. “I felt you staring. Sometimes I feel so objectified.”

  I grinned and motioned for Azazel to take control of orders. “You like it.”

  Cerin chuckled roughly and wiped some blood off his face with a forearm. “Yep.”

  “Get revenge if you'd like. Stay back while I clear a path.”

  Cerin dramatically swept an arm toward the street ahead. “By all means.”

  I stalked forward to face the foes keeping us from our destination, quickly relieving the frontlines of their energies and refreshing my own protections. There were no Chairel mages in the vicinity, only dwarves in heavy armor determined to batter me back by surrounding me with sheer force. A spell combination designed to combat this easily entered my mind.

  Creatius la wava a tyda. Nearing foes noticed the ball of water in my hands, but only one re-evaluated and tried dodging out of the way. A giant wave rushed forth from my palms, pushing heavy soldiers back and engulfing them with water. Its roar silenced battle cries until the river encompassed all enemies in sight.

  Tranferra la agua ti friz. I coaxed the closest edge of the wave to do my bidding, and it happily obliged. Water rapidly froze, entrapping all dwarves in a standing river of ice. Some of them were engulfed while the flesh of others peeked out of rolling hills of white. With all of my foes stuck and helpless, I released death magic next. The black mist spread out over the ice, seeking exposed flesh and extracting the lives of those still ensnared.

  Pfft! Green mist exploded outward over the road, rippling up at my boots as if spewing from a deadly hole beneath me. In utter confusion, I glanced back at my friends. Azazel quickly acted, pointing his bow toward an unseen enemy far above me and releasing an arrow. Suddenly, I connected the magic to the only enemy god we hadn't yet killed, and my chest seized in panic as I rapidly backed out of the area.

  At first, I mistakenly believed I was safe. Then, a sharp burning pain seared through my nostrils and esophagus like I'd dunked my head in acid and was stupid enough to inhale. My entire body began shutting down. Thoughts became slow and disoriented. Breaths turned wheezy as oxygen refused to give into the half-hearted demands of my weakening lungs. My heart skipped a beat, trying to stall.

  Poison. Poison. My eyes caught on the fog still dissipating in the air where I'd been standing. Viral, I thought vaguely, like my mind was seeking solutions as it died.

  Bind y flud toxin de viral. The words were distant in my head. Even though I recognized them, no magic formed in my hand. In the back of my mind, I knew I'd only thought the words of a spell and hadn't summoned it. I watched my hands with fascination as their veins turned deep green. Fizzling sounded between my lips where my tongue tickled with forming foam.

  Screams echoed from multiple voices, but they were vague, their words a gibberish mess. Two bloodied pale hands grabbed my upper arms, and the spell I'd tried summoning earlier was repeated verbally in Cerin's voice as he tugged me out of the area.

  A slight breeze rippled through the air, followed by Visha's falling body from an overpass far above. A carbon arrow marred one golden eye. The god must have been leaning over a barrier to shoot poison at me, for his body toppled over by itself. As Cerin scrambled back and pulled me with him, Visha landed in the center of his own cloud of poison with the crack of bone and the squelch of collapsing organs. His flesh burst open from the combined force of gravity and sharp broken bone in an eruption of blood and matter, and Cerin and I were hit with a shock wave of gore.

  Cerin cursed just behind my ear. I shook violently, but it felt like I was burning alive. Voices muffled in my head as I tore myself out of Cerin's arms and vomited over the road. Green-stained mucus glazed the resulting digestive contents, proving Cerin's spell was working. I leaned over the pile of vomit on both forearms, heaving with sickness while green phlegm drained freely from my lips and nostrils. Cerin held my long hair back from my face, and the coolness of sweat evaporating from my neck gave me the only relief I had for the moment.

  Cerin murmured the spell and gave it to me a second time, ensuring it would bound and cleanse all toxins. As I recovered, I watched the veins of my hands. As the poison was extracted, the green slowly faded.

  “What a little bitch,” Nyx seethed somewhere out of my sight. “He runs from Hades and then tries to kill Kai from a distance? Ugh.”

  “Well, it nearly worked, didn't it?” Cerin replied, tugging back another lock of my hair as it came loose from his grasp.

  “The poison went right through her anti-magic shields,” said Azazel close by. I flicked my eyes to the side, seeing him sitting on the ground, alchemy ingredients and a mortar and pestle already prepared before him. “Somehow Visha could generate poison—real chemical poison.”

  “That was kinda his thing, love,” Maggie pointed out.

  “But he wielded it like magic,” Azazel reminded her. “It looked like energy. Instead, Visha created actual viral threats.”

  Boot steps clunked by, and I glanced up to see Holter raise a hand toward Visha's exploded body. Foggy green magic formed over his palm a moment later, and the scout dispelled it before turning back to us. “Visha's whole body is toxic. Not just his blood, like Mirrikh.”

  “Then Cerin and Kai need to get his blood off of them immediately,” Azazel warned.

  “Shit.” Cerin adjusted behind me. “Yeah, it's burning me.”

  “Holter,” Azazel commanded, “we need two potions to combat inflammation. I'm making one to aid Kai's immunity. Nyx, take over for Cerin and hold back Kai's hair until her body rejects the last of the poison.” Glancing back toward our army, he called, “Water mages! I need two of you!”

  Phlegm continued draining from my face as the others followed Azazel's orders. The water mages he'd called for went about rinsing Visha's blood off of Cerin and me. As blood was cleared from the right side of my face, one of Visha's teeth fell out of the hair behind my ear, roots and all, proving the pressure of the fall had blown his skull apart. With the blood cleared, it was easier to see that my affected skin was pink and inflamed. The chemical burns mimicked the designs of the prior blood splatter.

  Finally, my throat cleared of phlegm. As soon as I backed away and cleaned my face again, Azazel insisted on wrapping my hands with strips of his drying cloth to keep the burns as protected as possible. He handed over a mug next. “Dull senses,” he reminded me.

  I u
sed the spell and drank the concoction as quickly as possible, feeling the burn of its bitterness tingle the back of my throat. As Azazel went about cleaning the mug and putting ingredients away, Holter came up to me next, holding out his own potion. I thanked him before gulping it even though it wasn't as bitter as the last. Just after Cerin finished drinking his and gave Holter back the mug, the scout told us, “This recipe is fairly new to me. I apologize in advance if it causes explosive diarrhea. The recipes for anti-inflammatories and laxatives are similar.”

  Cerin blurted out an enthusiastic curse, but I only laughed dryly and replied, “That's just what I need mid-battle.”

  A charming half-smile broke out on Holter's face, and he said, “Got you.”

  Nyx burst out laughing, impressed by Holter's prank. I simply exhaled in relief and replied, “You did.”

  “You're forgetting something,” Azazel told me light-heartedly.

  “Oh, yes.” I narrowed my eyes at Holter and said, “You're fired.”

  Holter pretended to pout. “From which job?”

  “All of them.”

  “You were doing so well there for a while, too,” Nyx lamented, shaking Holter's shoulder fondly.

  “Until you made me sassy,” Holter retorted, making me chuckle since I remembered calling him that.

  Cerin looked over my face as Holter and Azazel cleaned up their supplies. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thank you,” I replied. “You saved my life. I thought of the spell, but I couldn't summon it. I was losing my mind.” I noticed his continued stare and asked, “How's my face?”

  “A little puffy here and there,” Cerin informed me, before pointing near his hairline where he'd been hit with Visha's blood. The pale skin was pink and slightly inflamed. “Thank the gods it didn't get in our eyes.”

  “Kai.” Holter came up to me, still stuffing newly clean alchemy supplies in his satchel. “Do you think you'll need me to lead our army before we go to the royal district?”

  “Probably not. If I need to switch control, I can give it to Azazel. Why, do you want to transform?”

  Holter nodded and motioned to the overpasses above. “After what happened with Visha, I think I'd better. Lots of soldiers are falling off of bridges, and most of them aren't dwarves.”

  “Good idea. Give Nyx all your belongings.” I didn't miss Nyx's sigh of faux exasperation. Holter undressed and transformed as Nyx passed his satchel to Maggie.

  The engineer hung the bag around her neck. Though the satchel normally hung by Holter's hip from its long strap, it laid awkwardly beside Maggie's broad shoulder. She spun slowly in a circle to model the bag and asked, “How do I look, lovelies?”

  “Ridiculous,” Cerin replied.

  “Gorgeous,” Nyx added.

  “Like you could serve as a very confusing distraction for our enemies,” I mused.

  Maggie laughed boisterously at our reactions. “Oh, I normally do that, love. If I had a copper coin for every time somebody wondered just what the hell I am, I'd have a lotta copper coins.”

  When Holter finished his transformation, our army finally moved forward to the awaiting ramp. As we passed Visha's shattered body, I motioned to the arrow still piercing the god's dislodged eye and teased Azazel, “Don't forget to collect your arrow.”

  “That's one I'll be leaving behind,” Azazel replied.

  “Thank you for saving my life again,” I said, mimicking his words after Melodi's attack in Comercio.

  “You're welcome. Sorry I was late.”

  “I suppose I'll forgive you this once, Mr. Perfectionist,” I retorted dryly, and he grinned.

  The ramp was formed from smoothed slabs of stone with solid railings short enough to be worrisome to those leery of heights. They were at the perfect height for dwarves, but given Narangar had human and elven residents and visitors as well, I pondered over how many accidents, murders, and suicides had been aided by such a design flaw. The railings reflected our images in glimmering gold. Gold was so often used in the architecture here that it was a wonder Narangar wasn't a haven for thieves. Perhaps the excess of it in the aptly named Golden Peaks spoiled its allure, or maybe resources in such abundance weren't easily missed.

  The higher we traveled in Narangar, the more magnificent it was. The city below was such a fine mixture of shadow and fiery glows that it appeared to mimic a starry night sky. The view stretched from one side of the cavern to the next save for the protests of the tallest buildings. From here, I could see the harbor at the edge of the northeastern tunnel which glowed by the outdoor moonlight. In the valley, we hadn't been able to tell the moon was out at all. Seeing the harbor alight with its aid only proved the grand scope of the mountain had hidden it.

  In the uppermost district of Narangar, the architecture grew outward as if to mimic land. There were still overpasses leading from one area to the next, but buildings widened and were surrounded by giant golden patios that were secured with metal beams and chains to architecture and the cavern ceiling respectively. The chains fascinated me, for they were stories upon stories long and connected to the top of the hollowed mountain by an unknown method. It allowed the patios to serve as stable and sectioned-off neighborhoods between the tallest high-rises. As beautifully unique as the set-up was, it was also extremely dangerous.

  Just before I led my army from the ramp to the hanging neighborhoods of metal land, I turned to my men. “Absolutely no earth magic is to be used while metal is all that separates us from a quick trip back to the bottom,” I commanded. “Be mindful of your location. Avoid becoming cornered on metal patios that could disintegrate beneath you. Just one miscast spell could kill us all. We are looking for Narangar's regent, Golda Orland. If you see or hear anything that could lead us to her, let me or Azazel know.” I turned my attention to Holter as he hovered in the air just past the railing, his wings stirring up cool breezes for the nearest soldiers. “If you have no one to rescue, scout out the areas around us as we progress and see if you can't find Golda's location. If you do, take us there.”

  Holter nodded once.

  The first golden patio surrounded the high-rise we'd traversed and stretched across the open air until it met another that circled a second tower. The gold of the floors was not solid; it intertwined and looped in intricate designs that teased glimpses of lower Narangar through decorative gaps. To say I felt uneasy taking that first step onto the structure was the understatement of the century. As if to make the hanging patios more intimidating, they had no walls, only thin railings and rising golden pillars at regular intervals with which to hold a sorry excuse of a roof comprising just rafters that connected to the securing chains. The dwarves had always experimented with eccentric architecture, but this was ridiculous. Surely some of them feared heights.

  The top levels of the surrounding buildings were encased in polished gold that reflected nearby architecture and events. During a time of warfare, this was dangerously distracting. I could see the reflections of Cyrus's army fighting on our level even though their actual location was out of my view, and given the various angles of the smoothed gold, it was hard to discern where they were. For someone used to living in Narangar, perhaps this set-up was easily understood. It also seemed to be a form of security for the regent and her royal guard; there was nowhere for a criminal to hide if one's reflection was always visible.

  Wherever Cyrus and the others were, at least one allied army had already traveled this path. The first patio we crossed was spotted with trading stalls, open bars, and many tables and chairs for leisure. Strewn throughout were dropped weapons and sprays of blood, proof that a battle came and went. Elemental debris marred decorations and furniture: ice surrounded a pillar above a nearby railing, a few bloodied stone projectiles scattered over gold, and one wooden chair was alight with fire. As expected, the corpses were missing after allies recycled them into their own armies and urged them from the area.

  We followed signs of battle until our army finally caught up to
the chaos just west of the second tower. It was only here that the highest of the royal district revealed itself. Narangar's fortress was the most unique I'd ever seen, for it was only supported by its roof, not its base. The dwarves built the city's castle out of stone which hung from the uppermost reaches of the hollowed cavern like a stalactite of pure architecture. It was a magnificent building carved out of one piece of solid rock. Its foundation was flat above open air, relying only on the upper mountain itself to hold the building's weight. I'd witnessed nothing like it, and I found it fascinating.

  The fortress openly bragged of its glory; glowing windows revealed its many stories and even from a distance I could see a courtyard had been carved out of the stone front and center, circled by dense walls that attached to the ceiling above in connected watch towers. Between each of them was a stretch of wall that appeared to allow guardsmen to walk between keeps while beneath the cavern roof. The edge of the lower courtyard met with a giant golden bridge which suspended from the ceiling by yet another bulky chain. This bridge connected to the western side of the next patio over from us, but the two were separate pieces of architecture. Even more intriguing, the bridge's chain not only connected to the ceiling, but it continued to the hanging castle as if they could control it.

  Narangar's fortress was not free of defenses. Stations of ballistae and repeater crossbows pointed toward the bridge and its adjacent patios from its nearest walls. However, despite having barriers, it had no gate. One could theoretically walk straight from the bridge onto the open stone courtyard if they were lucky enough to dodge the closest siege weapons. It was a glaring flaw in a defensive design, so I automatically assumed it held secrets.

  “The bridge moves,” Azazel said, noticing my stare.

  “I figured,” I replied, my eyes traveling up its chain. “How do you know?”

  “Its chain doesn't connect directly to the ceiling, but a pulley,” Azazel replied, his superior eyes on the cavern above the bridge. “It continues from there to the castle wall, where it can be wheeled forward or backward, and the controls are manned.”