by Steve Feasey
But there were other elements.
She made her way along the ridge towards a small, stone structure that must once have been used by a shepherd in these parts. Sure enough, when she ducked inside, the little beehive-shaped place still had the unmistakeable whiff of livestock inside its crumbling walls. It was an ideal place for her needs; the opening looked out and down on to the headland. For centuries, she thought, the men and women who had worked these lands would have sheltered here.
Fleya took up her own position in the doorway, lowering herself on to the floor and pulling her cloak around her against the chill sea air.
She emptied her mind, and transported herself into the place where she could tap into the Art. Her eyes were open, but she was looking at two realms now: the one before her, and the swirling vortex of power that she aimed to draw her majik from. She knew she would have to drink deep from that well, and that she would leave herself vulnerable by doing so.
The majik stirred inside her, and an icy shiver of fear ran down her spine. Turning her hands so the palms were facing up towards her, she intoned the words of the summoning, concentrating on the land and sea below her, and on the steely grey waters beyond the headland in particular. She felt powerful and filled with energy, but also became conscious that her presence here was no longer a secret. The lich was aware that something was attempting sorcery.
The waters beyond the headland began to move in an unusual way, swirling and churning the surface as if something just beneath were trying to break free. A noise, like water poured from a great height, filled Fleya’s head. Doing her best to keep focused, she repeated the spell, the words merging with the now tumultuous noise that seemed to come from everywhere all at once.
Suddenly, without warning, a huge, winged dragon made entirely of water erupted from the sea and took to the air. Its enormous shadow hung over the land below, and great showers of seawater fell from it, soaking the earth. The creature’s wings beat the air over the headland as it scanned the landscape below for something. Its mistress.
Already exhausted by her efforts, Fleya stumbled to her feet and out of the stone building. Looking up through the torrents of salty rain, her heart soared as the creature turned towards her. That great wet din still filled her head, and through it she could hear the creature, demanding to know why she had brought it here. Staggering slightly, the witch made it to the edge of the ridge.
When she looked down on the Earth Elemental a gasp escaped her lips. Perhaps spurred on by her presence, the creature had increased its efforts – the last block was about to be put in place. Pointing a shaking finger at the creature of rock and stone, she screeched her command to the skies, demanding the Water Elemental do what she had summoned it for.
Even before the words were fully out of her mouth, the Water Elemental had folded its wings and was diving downwards, falling from the heavens at great speed to try and intercept the stone golem before it could lower that final glassy block.
Fleya screamed in frustration as she realised she was too late.
The air changed, and a crackling discharge, like that released in a lightning storm, was emitted as the block was lowered into place. At the same time, the Earth Elemental turned its face towards its attacker, looking up and swinging an arm clumsily in an attempt to hit the thing streaking down towards it. Making no attempt to dodge the blow, the dragon opened its mouth and spewed forth a great column of seawater that struck the thing of rock and stone at full force in the chest, knocking it back off its feet. Mud and clay, boulders and stones as big as a man, fell from the Earth Elemental as it struggled upwards again. But the winged thing was no longer there. In one motion it climbed vertically, then turned over in the air so it was directly over its opponent.
Folding its wings again, the Water Elemental dropped out of the sky a second time. Head down, its long neck stretched out, it emitted a blood-curdling screech as it plummeted straight down, twisting at the last possible second to slam its vast tail into its foe. The Earth Elemental shattered like a china doll, bits of it flying in every direction until there was nothing left of the creature but scattered debris.
A small whimper escaped Fleya as the last of her strength threatened to leave her. With what remained, she begged the dragon to dive one last time; to smash those black glass towers in the same way it had smashed the golem.
But the Water Elemental was equally spent. Weakened to the point that she could hardly stand, Fleya looked on in horror as the great flying creature fell to the ground as a sheer mass of water that quickly turned it to a sodden, boggy mess.
The witch clenched her fists. This was not over. She had to get down there to stop the portal being activated by the lich. She had to—
Fleya heard the footsteps behind her, but it was too late. Pain exploded behind her eyes, and then darkness consumed her.
Lann and Astrid rode through the night, ignoring their fatigue and fears as they hurried towards Vissergott, pushing their horses to the limit in the hope of getting to Fleya before she was forced to take on Kelewulf and the lich alone. Bent over the necks of their beasts, they hardly spoke a word throughout the long ride.
Their encounter with the farmer and his family had stirred up something inside Astrid that she had not expected: she was homesick. She found herself longing for news of her brother. She’d left without telling him how proud she was of him or how much she loved him, and, with the realisation that she might never see him again, those missed words hung heavily on her.
Her musings were abruptly cut short when the black bangle on her arm suddenly sent a painful shock through the limb, the sensation greater than anything she’d experienced when it had warned her about the asghoul. At the same time, Lann reined his horse to a halt, turning in the saddle to look across at her, the look of fear on his face perfectly matching her own.
‘Something’s happened,’ he said, his head cocked to one side as if he were listening to something she couldn’t hear. ‘It’s Fleya.’ He gave her one last look before kicking his heels into the horse’s flanks and urging it on at a full gallop.
Fleya slowly emerged from the blackness. Her head throbbed and she did her best to ignore the terrible pain behind her eyes. Her hands were tied behind her, the leather cords pulled wickedly tight so they bit into the flesh of her wrists. Flexing her fingers to try and get some blood flowing into them caused her to gasp in pain. Her feet were tied in a similar fashion.
She was still outside, but she was no longer up on the ridge. The wetness of the ground, coupled with the briny smell of seawater, suggested she must be down on the headland. The cold had soaked into her clothing and she let out an involuntary shiver.
‘Good, you’re awake,’ she heard somebody behind her say.
More pain flared as she turned her head in the direction of the voice.
Kelewulf Rivengeld was hardly recognisable as the young man she’d met in Stromgard a few years earlier. During that first encounter she’d been struck by how different he was from his father or uncle, both of whom were thick-set Volken men. But at least he’d appeared healthy enough. Now he looked … withered – like a once healthy plant that had endured a long drought and was hollowed out from within.
He was standing in a circle that had been gouged into the earth and filled with small stones and pebbles. She herself had used similar circles on many occasions.
‘The Water Elemental was rather impressive. I should like to know how you managed it. Sadly for you, it was also a complete waste of time and effort.’ He smiled down at her. ‘It has left you exhausted. What a shame.’
‘Who’s talking to me right now?’ she asked softly. ‘Is it the young man I met once, full of potential and promise? Or the dark thing that is forcing him to do its bidding?’ She waited for a response, continuing when none came, ‘For that is what has happened here – you know that, Kelewulf, don’t you? Regardless of what agreement you thought you had with Yirgan, he is slowly but surely possessing you. You are his dupe. A vict
im. Have you seen yourself lately? The way you look? Do you think the lich cares about you?’
Her questions drew nothing but mocking laughter. ‘The lich and I are one now. We share common goals and desires that can only be realised by staying together.’
‘Kelewulf, listen to me. Concentrate on my voice, and not the one inside your head. You can break this covenant. You can free yourself of the creature that occupies you. You can—’
‘Silence!’
The boy threw an arm out, and the remaining words were shut off as Fleya felt an invisible hand squeezing her throat. She couldn’t breathe, the pressure was too much, and as she gasped for air a wicked smile spread across Kelewulf’s face. He was enjoying watching her eyes bulge in a face that was rapidly turning from red to purple. A black curtain began to obscure Fleya’s vision and she was about to pass out again when she witnessed the smile falter. In its place was an odd expression: one of confusion and doubt.
‘Enough. Please. Do not kill her.’ The pressure released, and Fleya guessed that the boy had wrestled control back from the lich, even if only momentarily. She greedily sucked air into her lungs, warily watching the young man.
That there was a conflict going on inside him was clear. His face twisted into a terrible grimace one moment, an angry mask the next. Not only did his face contort, his whole body jerked and writhed as if he were struggling to control it.
‘She is dangerous to us. I should end her now.’
‘She is more useful to us alive. The boy is coming. And he brings with him the Dreadblade. He cares about the witch. We can bargain with her life.’
‘You meddle too much, lich. Remember who is the master and who is the servant here.’
A small gasp escaped Fleya. Her situation was even more perilous than she’d imagined. It was the boy, not the lich, who had the upper hand! The realisation made her skin crawl. How could she have misjudged the boy’s power so badly?
As if sensing this, the young man looked down at her with a sneer.
‘Do you still think I am its puppet, witch? Hmm? You’re right about one thing: the lich did indeed try to take over. It went against the agreement we made when I first summoned it. But I was prepared. I did not enter into the covenant lightly. I had planned for Yirgan’s betrayal. Because I knew it would eventually come. I’d equipped myself with spells and protective wards, all kept hidden from the lich, of course, to ensure that such a thing could not happen. And now the lich’s powers are mine, and it is little more than my slave. I will dispense with it soon. Its usefulness is wearing thin. But who knows? There might be a thing or two it could still teach me, I suppose.’
‘You’re a monster,’ Fleya croaked.
‘A monster, you say?’ He laughed. ‘In a few short moments I shall open a portal to another dimension. Then you will see what monsters truly are.’
‘This is your world, Kelewulf. This is the land of your people. You cannot unleash the horrors of the Void on them. People will die.’
‘Oh, I do hope so.’
Fleya gave a small shake of her head. ‘Whatever you do, you can’t bring her back. You know that, don’t you?’ She stared into his sunken eyes, willing him to hear her. ‘Your mother is gone. I know how you’ve carried the anger of her loss with you all these years, and that burden has warped you, Kelewulf. But it is not too late. The portal is not yet open. You can still change.’
‘Change? I have changed!’ He gave her a cruel smile. ‘Oh, you mean change for the better. Into something like you. And why would I want to do that, hmm? You talk as if I should care what happens to this world and its people. But this world has done nothing for me. My people don’t give a damn for anybody unable to swing a sword or axe. This world gave me a father who treated me like dirt. And it allowed him to take away the one person who cared for me. The people who you are so concerned about made me feel small and weak and useless. And now they shall suffer as I did.’
‘Your mother was not well. Your father treated her badly. But hear me, Kelewulf,’ Fleya pleaded. ‘She would never have wanted this.’
‘She wanted me to be strong …’
‘Not like this. This is not strength. Strength is living in the world and changing it for the better. You will change this world into an even more terrible place.’
‘Gods and monsters roamed this realm once. Who’s to say that was not a better time than this?’
‘Because this is the time of man. Those days are gone.’
‘We shall see.’
‘Kelewulf! Please, I beg you! STOP!’
But the boy wasn’t listening any more. His head was tilted back, and she saw his eyes roll back as the words of an ancient language spilt from his lips.
Fleya felt the power that was being called upon: a wrenching sensation that caused her to let out a small cry of fear. She bucked her body, twisting it in an effort to roll towards the safety of the small circle that he’d created around him, but it was hopeless. She could feel the coldness of the Void seep into her bones, she could hear the anger of the creatures within it: howls, screeches, moans and screams of excitement filled the air around her as the light inside it waned.
Then they came.
Not in ones or twos, but in a horrifying flood of teeth and claws, scales and feathers, wings and tentacles. Some were large, others small, but all were terrifying. Things which belonged in the darkest recesses of the imagination or in stories designed to scare children. Ghostly wraiths, demonic chimeras and ghastly undead things appeared out of nowhere, filling the air with their cacophony of sound until her ears hurt.
She sought to summon a spell of protection, already knowing that the majik would not come. Kelewulf was right; she was spent, and could do nothing but accept her fate.
She turned to look back at the young necromancer again, noting how he, too, appeared to be on the point of collapse, his entire body trembling with the immense effort he was having to expend to keep the portal open. She understood the willpower and energy such a feat required, and a tiny part of her couldn’t help but marvel that one so young and untrained was capable of carrying it out. What little colour there had been to his skin had now disappeared completely, leaving him the colour of bleached bone. He’d badly bitten his tongue during the spell, and blood ran from the side of his mouth on to his neck and clothing. A great convulsion went through him, and she watched as his knees buckled. He almost collapsed in that moment, but somehow he found yet more strength to continue. She doubted she’d ever met anyone with such raw power. And she knew there would only be one outcome if Lann, even with the Dreadblade, tried to stand against it.
The terrible cold that had signalled the merging of the two realms disappeared, and she knew the portal was no longer open.
Fleya did not know how much darkness and terror had leached from that realm to this. But she knew that the world would never be the same again.
She felt the thing behind her before she heard it. A dark, horned thing that came at her with its claws raised, its lips peeled back to reveal row upon row of jagged teeth.
Fleya had seen the monster before; seen this exact moment. She had seen her own death in a vision on the night before she and Lann had set out from her home, and she knew that right now, at this very moment, he and Astrid were running towards her from the hills above, trying to save her from her fate.
She knew all these things.
Just as she knew they would be too late.
34
Lann and Astrid approached the hilltop overlooking Vissergott at a full gallop, and both were nearly thrown from their mounts when the creatures skidded to an abrupt stop and reared up, rolling their eyes in fright. Despite their urgings, neither animal would go on.
Lann could not blame them. He had felt it too: an omen of evil that affected both human and horse at the most basic of levels.
‘We have to hurry,’ Astrid said, climbing down from her saddle and moving towards the bluff. ‘Lann?’
He hardly heard her words due
to the clamour of noise that filled his head. The black blade’s usual mutterings had risen to a screeching jumble of warnings and urgings and demands. He staggered as he climbed down from his horse. When he looked at his right hand he saw that the sword was already firmly in his grasp, even though he had no recollection of having drawn the blade from its scabbard.
Nir-akuu. Nir-Akuu. Nir-Akuu! NIR-AKUU! NIR-AKUU!!
‘Lann?’ Astrid took a step in his direction, but halted when he held a hand out. There was a dangerous look in his eye, something she had not seen before.
‘I am your keeper and will do your work,’ Lann said through gritted teeth. He was looking out at a point in the distance beyond her, and Astrid knew he was speaking to the blade. ‘But I cannot do those things if you fill my mind with this noise. Relent, and we will do what must be done … together.’
The sword did as it was bid, and Lann was able to relax ever so slightly as the tumult in his head subsided. The incessant voice of the sword was still there, but Lann could hear his own thoughts now. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he focused on Astrid and gave her a small reassuring smile.
The pair hurried up to the edge of the hill overlooking the headland, but were stopped in their tracks by what they saw below.
‘Kelewulf,’ Astrid said in a small voice, and Lann followed the direction of her gaze.
A thin boy was standing inside a small ring marked out in the ground. A short distance in front of him, bound by her hands and feet, was Fleya. One side of her pale face was covered in blood from a head injury, and she appeared to be talking to the young necromancer, even though it was clear she was struggling to do so.
Whatever she said was ignored by Kelewulf. Lann and Astrid watched as he tilted his head back and started to intone words in a strange language, the sounds drifting up to them on the wind. Even from where he stood, Lann could make out the fear and desperation on his aunt’s face, and he fancied he heard her cry out, begging the young man to stop.