Path of Shadows

by Ben Wolf

  But no one got bitten, and they advanced upward yet again to the twelfth floor, where they encountered a horde of orcs.

  Until that point, Aeron had only heard of orcs. He’d never actually seen any. In the army, Aeron had learned that Xenthan had the largest population of orcs in all of Aletia. Almost all of them roamed the bitterly cold northern region of Xenthan, well north of Tebaryx and most of Xenthan’s other cities, towns, and villages.

  Aeron counted twenty orcs in all, each about as large as Kent, only bulkier, but none approached Garrick’s size. They carried weapons like those of the goblins—chipped, cracked, poorly crafted and likely forged with junk iron, but considerably bigger in size.

  Aeron had batted the goblins around with no trouble. They’d hardly weighed anything, and his naginata carved them into pieces easily enough, so they’d gone down fast.

  The orcs, however, proved far more resilient—almost maniacal.

  The first orc that Aeron faced didn’t falter until the naginata blade stabbed through his face and out the back of his head. Aeron had already cut multiple deep gashes into the orc’s exposed torso and limbs, but the wounds had only slowed him down.

  With the next orc, Aeron blocked an overhead blow that should’ve rattled his naginata, but the ice-forged metal dissipated the shock to his hands right away. The orc’s sword shattered against the blow, then Aeron delivered a hard crack to the orc’s jaw with the pommel at the base of the naginata.

  The orc staggered back a step, and Aeron swung the naginata blade hard and fast at the orc’s head, and it cut clean through the upper half of the orc’s skull. This time, the orc dropped immediately, and Aeron turned to the next one.

  When they’d fought the goblins, Garrick had torn through them like a tornado, flinging their shattered bodies every which way. The orcs, however, neither flew as far nor gave in as easily, though Garrick still felled every one that came at him. Kent’s swordplay and magic handled a handful of others.

  But Mehta had, by far, done the most damage. He’d returned Kent’s ice-forged dagger to him prior to the beginning of the battle and drawn his new knives once more. The orcs moved so much slower than Mehta that he slipped past their attacks with ease and delivered fierce, brutal counterattacks with incredible speed.

  A line of six dead orcs lay behind Mehta, and he quickly slew the next two in line. Aeron took down another orc himself, and then Kent’s sword finished off the last orc with a devastating hack that split the orc’s chest wide open.

  The blue light around the platform glowed once more, and they ascended yet again, but it still wasn’t fast enough for Aeron.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Garrick said to Aeron between breaths. “Lord Valdis didn’t account for our weapons. We’ll get there in time. I swear to you, we will.”

  Aeron nodded. Of all the Blood Mercs, Garrick had been the least engaged with the idea of rescuing Kallie thus far. Sure, he’d gone along with it, but to hear him so adamant about saving her now resurrected Aeron’s hope that they could succeed.

  The platform stopped, and on the thirteenth floor, they dealt with colored, floating orbs that spewed various types of magic at them. Then they headed up to the fourteenth floor.

  The gauntlet of battles and sinister enemies persisted until the eighteenth floor. By that point, they could see only one more floor above them. The pale green light sealed it off as it had with all the others, but the knowledge that they were so close to the end set Aeron’s heart thrumming with anticipation.

  On the eighteenth floor, the remainder of Lord Valdis’s soldiers came for them. Compared to the orcs and the goblins and all the other terrors they’d faced, the soldiers proved the most challenging yet. They were trained, intelligent fighters with good weapons, and there were at least two-dozen of them.

  The thought of having to kill so many men just to save his sister turned Aeron’s stomach, but these men had made their choice and sided with evil. Aeron would do what he had to do to save Kallie.

  The fight lasted longer than any of the others before it. Aeron’s naginata got to work and destroyed the weapons of the first half of his opponents, all of whom looked at him with fear and confusion at the sight of their weapons breaking after too many blows against the ice-forged steel.

  When they stopped attacking him, as if unsure how to get past his naginata, Aeron went on the offensive, and he went hard. Slashes and strikes and lunges and stabs cut down the first five soldiers with relative ease.

  One of the remaining three who’d encircled him managed to strike Aeron’s shoulder with his spear, but the blow glanced off his armor. He retaliated and skewered the soldier right through the three-horned ram sigil on his armored chest. Ice crystals burst from the wound, and the soldier went down hard.

  The other two soldiers rushed Aeron, but he ducked away from their blows and slid the naginata blade from the dead soldier’s chest in one smooth motion. A few parries, a strike at the first soldier’s leg, a brutal slam of the naginata’s pommel against the other soldier’s head, and they both went down.

  They pleaded with him to spare them, but Aeron knew he couldn’t. Not if he wanted this platform to keep moving up. Once the others finished off the remaining soldiers, the blue light glowed once more, and the platform ascended to the nineteenth and final floor.

  When the platform stopped moving and its light went out, Aeron couldn’t see anything at first. The entire floor was dark, and only the light glowing from their weapons revealed anything was there at all.

  Lord Valdis was somewhere on this level, and so was Kallie. And so was the dragon, which made Aeron even more nervous than the thought of facing Lord Valdis.

  By now, the last shroom he’d taken had worn off, and fatigue and back pain alike had taken their toll on him. Aeron plucked a final shroom from one of the pouches at his waist, and he devoured it.

  The shroom wouldn’t do much for his fatigue, if anything, but he preferred to face Lord Valdis and the dragon with as little back pain as possible. He inhaled a deep breath and refocused on his dark surroundings.

  “See anything, Mehta?” Garrick muttered.

  “No,” he whispered. “More of that magical darkness, like before.”

  “What do we do?” Garrick asked.

  As Garrick said it, Aeron noticed the faintest bit of orange light off to his right. It glowed from behind some sort of form, outlining it in flickering glimpses. One flicker caught just right, and he made out the shape of what appeared to be a woman seated in a chair.

  “Kallie…” he whispered. His heart thundered. “She’s over here!”

  As the others tried to call him back, Aeron charged toward her, abandoning all caution. He knew it could be a trap, and it probably was, but he didn’t care. With his ice-forged naginata, no trap on the continent would keep him away now that he’d found her again.

  The closer Aeron got to her, the more of her he could see. She sat facing away from him, drawing slow breaths—that alone set Aeron’s troubled heart at ease. Her tousled blonde hair hung loose down her back, and she wore the same simple clothing from the day they’d left Mehta’s village.

  As Aeron approached, the orange light flickered out, and only the soft blue light from his weapon illuminated the space. Behind him, the tentative footfalls of his fellow Blood Mercs approached.

  “Kallie,” Aeron said, his voice hushed. “It’s me. Are you alright?”

  Her head lolled a bit, and she moaned. Aeron drew closer, scanning the oppressive darkness for potential threats.

  “Careful, Aeron,” Kent said from behind him.

  Aeron reached out. “Kallie?”

  When his gloved hand touched her shoulder, it felt unnaturally hard, not soft and fleshy. Confused, he peered around to have a look at her.

  She turned her head toward him and stared up at him with two burning coals for eyes, outlined by scorched black skin that spread up to her forehead and down to her cheeks.

  It wasn’t Kallie.

 
; It was Falna.

  She laughed and whirled toward him, her hands ablaze in blistering flames, and hurled a maelstrom of red fire straight into Aeron’s chest.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The first time Falna had blasted Aeron across a room was at his parents’ house back in Govaliston.

  He hadn’t known anything about her then, nor did he have any idea that she was about to kidnap his sister and forever change Aeron’s life. She was a complete stranger, a harbinger of flame and violence who left only ash and sorrow in her wake.

  Back then, a simple fireball had been more than enough to get the job done, and he’d only survived thanks to his breastplate. This time, she’d hurled an inferno at him, and the flames dug under his armor and swirled across his skin, trying to char his flesh black.

  It didn’t work. The blast launched him backward, just like at his parents’ house, but as he skidded to a stop along the floor, the fire dissipated in a cloud of smoke. His arms, legs, and face stung with fresh, but minor, burns, and all of his clothes and armor had somehow remained intact, too.

  Falna’s blast should have incinerated Aeron instantly, but it hadn’t. Fjorst’s blessing had protected him.

  But he also knew he couldn’t take another hit like that; the burns he’d sustained demonstrated the truth of that. Falna’s rage had seared right through the blessing, and now Aeron was no longer immune to fire or to the cold, he assumed.

  For now, though, he was alive, and that was good enough.

  Kent and Mehta hurried to help him to his feet.

  “I’m fine,” he replied. “I shouldn’t be, but I am.”

  “Fjorst,” Kent said.

  Aeron nodded. The blast had threatened to aggravate his back, but the shroom he’d just taken was still working, still fighting the pain.

  He used his naginata to brace himself as he stood fully upright, and he stood there, facing Falna once again. The chair she’d been sitting in was completely gone, reduced to ash thanks to her blast.

  Kallie’s old clothes smoldered on Falna’s body, gradually burning away to nothing. She wore the same black armor underneath, marked with Lord Valdis’s sigil, and her arcane steel swords hung from her belt, this time one on each hip.

  All the while, Garrick hadn’t moved from his spot. He’d stood his ground, unshakeable, holding his ice-forged hammer and staring at her, no more than ten feet away.

  “Hello, traitor.” Falna stared right back at him with twin fires raging in her eyes.

  At first, Aeron thought she was referring to him. He’d re-acclimated to hearing Commander Brove call him a traitor during their excursion into Fjorst’s temple. But she wasn’t—she was talking to Garrick instead.

  “You said you like a decisive man,” Garrick countered. “And I’ve decided I’ve had enough of your bluster. We’re gonna settle this once and for all, like I should’ve done back at that pub in Etrijan.”

  “Except this time, you’ll burn.” Falna flared with wild, untamed heat. She raised her arms and hurled another inferno at Garrick, but he was ready for it.

  He dodged to the side and ran with abandon as her flames chased his frantic footsteps. In all the time Aeron had known Garrick, he’d never seen him run so fast.

  Kent pointed his ice-forged sword at Falna, and a wide swath of blue-white ice burst from its blade.

  Falna saw it coming and redirected her fire. Flames collided with the ice in the middle of the space between them, and both blasts stalled in the center for a long moment.

  Aeron glanced at Kent, who stood there clutching his sword with both hands, gritting his teeth, and pouring everything he had into the beam. Across from him, Falna’s fiery eyes flared even brighter, and her mouth hung open in a soundless scream as she forced the fire forward.

  Then, to Aeron’s horror, the fire began to advance on Kent’s ice.

  How is this possible?

  Kent saw it happening, but he couldn’t believe it. Fjorst had imbued him with more power than he’d ever known, so much so that he could sustain this ice magic indefinitely without getting fatigued.

  But somehow Falna was not only able to match him but was actually overpowering him. Falna was dangerous—Kent had learned that quickly enough from their first encounter—but he’d received a blessing directly from a god. He should’ve been able to overwhelm her in no time.

  The fire crept ever closer, and Kent had already unleashed the full force of his magic into the sword, but to what end? If Falna was stronger, what good would his magic be against her?

  By that point, Falna had all but become a living flame. Fire wreathed her entire body and billowed out of her eyes as she cast her fury at Kent. If Kent’s magic couldn’t stop her, what could? Should he try to use Fjorst’s cannon on her?

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mehta cutting to the side. He meant to flank Falna while she was distracted. If Kent could keep her attention on him for long enough, it might work.

  But instead of darting in for an attack, Mehta hurled all four of his shuriken at her.

  Falna noticed.

  She abandoned her blast at Kent and instead constricted all the fire around her into a fiery shell. It burned hot, and neither Mehta’s shuriken nor Kent’s ice beam could break through. Mehta’s shuriken reflected off, then they careened back to him, wobbling in the air as they flew.

  Then Garrick provided the answer. He ran back toward Falna and slammed his ice-forged hammer against her barrier of flames.

  The blow knocked Falna and her shield back several yards, and she skidded to a halt, still maintaining her protection against Kent’s attack. She arched down, pulling the flames around her even tighter. Then she jerked upright and thrust her arms out to the sides with a wrathful scream.

  Her flame barrier expanded rapidly, scorching the stone ceiling, the floor, and the wall near her. It sizzled toward the Blood Mercs, and Kent’s magic could do nothing to stop its advance.

  “Run!” he yelled. “To me!”

  The Blood Mercs heeded his cries and returned to Kent. He drove the point of his sword into the stone floor and pumped all of his magic into it. A barrier of ice sprang up, encasing them inside its protective shell.

  Fire washed over their barrier, cracking long fissures into it and sending droplets of frigid water running down onto them. Kent immediately shored up the barrier’s weaknesses with new ice magic.

  The flames continued to dig into the ice shield, but it held. Without Fjorst’s blessing, they all would’ve perished by now—Kent never could’ve maintained such power for so long otherwise.

  When the flames finally let up, Kent let the barrier shatter, and they emerged from it like four hatchlings crawling out of a frozen egg. Falna stood across the room from them, still ablaze, but less dramatically so.

  “Looks like you got stronger, handsome,” she crooned between labored breaths.

  “You too,” Kent replied, trying to catch his own breath. “Tell me your secret.”

  “Let’s just say that Lord Valdis knows how to treat a girl right.” She glowered at Kent and Garrick. “Unlike some other men out there.”

  “We cannot all be monsters willing to sacrifice young women for personal gain,” Kent said.

  “And wealth, and power,’” Falna quipped. “Face it: you’re just a bunch of nobody mercenaries who are way out of your depth. The girl will die, Lord Valdis’s ritual will succeed, and you won’t live to see the sun rise tomorrow. If you give up now, I’ll make your deaths quick—though I can’t promise they’ll be painless.”

  She blew them a kiss and winked, both very strange sights to see, given the charred skin around her fiery eyes.

  “We may only be mercenaries, but we are also the only ones who can stop this atrocity from happening,” Kent replied. “And we will either succeed, or we will die trying. We will never yield, not until we draw our final breaths. So if you wish to surrender, do so now. I promise to make your death slow and thoroughly miserable.”

  Falna
shook her head and sighed. “All this time, I thought you were a noble, highborn gentleman, yet now you threaten a lady.”

  Kent scoffed. “You are no lady. You never were, and we will see to it that you never will be.”

  The flames burning along Falna’s arms and shoulders swelled to their previous levels of brightness, and she shook her head again. “I’m gonna enjoy turning you four jesters into carbon shadows.”

  She drew her arcane steel swords, and their red blades ignited with fire just like the rest of her. Then she started toward them.

  The Blood Mercs brandished their weapons anew.

  “Be careful, Aeron,” Kent muttered just loud enough for them to hear him. “Everyone else, too.”

  “I will,” Aeron replied. “Nothing’s gonna stop me from getting to Kallie.”

  “We’ll fight her together,” Garrick said. “The four of us can bring her down.”

  “Divide her focus,” Mehta added. “No matter how powerful she’s become, she can’t fight us all at once.”

  Kent nodded. “Then let us extinguish this harpy once and for all.”

  There was no question in Garrick’s mind that Falna was faster than him, but she wasn’t stronger. So when she tore across the floor in a whirlwind of fire and fury, he met her strikes with calm, reserved blocks with the shaft of his hammer. Her flaming swords sizzled and hissed against the ice-forged metal, but neither weapon yielded.

  To Garrick’s surprise, her attacks hit harder than he’d been expecting—possibly a result of whatever Lord Valdis had done to enhance her power. They actually made Garrick stutter-step backward to properly absorb her blows.

  But he knew his role in this fight: he needed only to withstand her so the others could find a way to break past her fiery defenses to bring her down.

  Mehta’s four shuriken flashed at her, but she swatted them from the air with her swords as if they were nothing but flies, all without missing a beat in attacking Garrick. The shuriken zipped back to Mehta the next instant.