by Jena Rey
“The spell? The runes on the floor reacted with my mace, if that is the same thing.” He gestured at the head of the weapon where it was lodged in the floor. “There was some kind of keyhole, and magic came from it and pulled my weapon in. And well, now I’m here.”
“Well, of course it did. That was its purpose, after all.” Whilpow walked past Darian to the mace and nudged the skull with his foot. “Pointy thing, isn’t it. Appropriate for one of Osephetin’s children.” He held out his hand and the floor around the embedded mace hummed with power. The mace flew upward, and he caught it easily. The god turned the mace over and over, inspecting it with a practiced eye. “Oh my, yes. Yes. Right here.” His fingers traced the runes across the hilt almost lovingly. “It brings a tear to my old eyes. She actually did it. You do know what you hold in your hands, don’t you, my boy?”
“No. It’s my soul weapon, but I’m sure you aren’t referring to that.” Darian folded his arms across his chest. “There’s a lot that’s been lost since you went away. Would you care to explain?” It was hard to fight back the impatience and uncertainty that filled Darian’s thoughts and emotions. He seemed safe enough, but what about the others? They needed the information this man – no, this God – knew, but he was taking his time in revealing it.
“You serve the God of the Dead. All of your fellow Knights wield weapons blessed by Lord Osephetin. Though every soul weapon is unique to the wielder, yours is blessed beyond that.” Whilpow offered Darian his mace. “Your mace is touched not only by the God of Death, but also by the Goddess of Life. Blessed by the last of her line if all has gone as we hoped it might. No other in recorded history has ever held a weapon blessed by two gods at the same time. It is only possible under very specific circumstances, you understand.”
“That’s interesting, Sir, but it does me very little good here.”
“Knowledge always does you good, young Knight. It is the search for knowledge, after all, that brought you to my temple.” The god walked over to one of the shelves and removed a thick tome. “You seek to destroy the Lich, do you not?”
“Yes. As I said, we came to your temple looking for something to help us with a mystical scroll. Your followers were well known for their ability to translate, and we were hoping there was something here that would help us decipher it.”
“There was something in the temple, my boy. You found it. And by ‘it’, I mean me.” Whilpow smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “I know the scroll very well. The Goddess of Life and I discussed its creation at length before I was hidden from your world and my knowledge with me.” He opened the book and thumbed through to a page. “This is the scroll you’re speaking of, yes?” He showed the page to Darian, where a diagram of a scroll was sketched.
Darian studied it. “That looks very similar to it, yes.”
“Good. There are many mystical scrolls in the wide world. It is best we are sure we’re talking about the same one. This scroll will help you. It contains, among other things, the location where Liana, the Goddess of Life, hid the Lich’s phylactery.” He closed the tome with a triumphant thump and slid it back into the bookcase. “Now, obviously, I can’t tell you where it is, that was done after I came here. But, it was part of a plan that if she was able to lay hands on it, she would document what she’d done, and I would keep the key to reading that information safe for the right people. Wait here.” He spun on his heel and strode out of the room with purpose, leaving Darian staring after him.
Darian sheathed his mace, pacing the length of the nearby bookshelf. His gaze traced the titles on the book spines, many of which he couldn’t read as the languages were foreign to his eyes. He paced back and forth at least another half dozen times when the sound of approaching footsteps stopped him.
Whilpow returned with quick strides. “This will be what you need.” He took Darian’s hands and placed something cold and metallic into his palm. “Guard it well, for it is the only one of its kind. Such a thing has never existed before, nor will again.”
“What is it?” Darian opened his hand, peering at the item. The necklace consisted of a heavy silver chain with a small circular bauble that looked like a tiny glass sheet bound in rose gold hanging from it. It appeared unremarkable, like a small monocle, except for the fact a literal god had handed it to him.
“That, my boy, is one of my translators, taken to another level for this very purpose. I’m afraid in your hands, as a servant of Osephetin, it’s not going to do much. It’d take one of my disciples to make it function to its full ability. But even given that, it will be enough to allow your scholars to translate your scroll. Simply run the circle across the text and peer through it. The purpose of the reader and the text will be made clear.” Whilpow clapped his hands. “I won’t say this is the only way you could read the scroll, but it will be the most efficient and most timely. Now, let’s see about getting you back home, shall we? You’ve spent far too much time here as it is. I expect your friends will be concerned and the activation of the lock may well have brought enemies. They know there is light and knowledge here, but have never had the means to reach for it.”
Darian thought this all sounded a lot more complex than Whilpow seemed to think, but those thoughts were chased out of his head at the mention of enemies. “I have to go, then. Please.”
“Spoken like a true Knight. Put the necklace around your head, and I shall reverse the lock. I have enjoyed meeting to you, Knight Darian. It’s been nice to have someone to speak to after all this time.”
“Thank you, m’lord.” Darian moved to place the necklace around his neck, but paused. “Wait. I didn’t tell you my name.”
Whilpow smiled. “No. You did not.”
The necklace dropped around his neck and a flash of light blinded Darian, then darkness overtook his senses.
Ephema stared at the spot where Darian and the mace had been, stunned. From outside, undead wails arose, familiar in their keening intensity. The walls bucked and shuddered, throwing Ephema from the casement. Tabor rushed to the doorway to the main hallway, holding his maul high to brace the gap. “Here! We have to get out before the room collapses!”
“But… Darian.” Ephema protested, trying to get her feet under her.
Tabor shook his head. “He’s lost. If we remain this will be our grave as well.”
“But…” A stabbing pain ran through her chest, turning her stomach. She couldn’t leave Darian behind. He’d been there since the beginning. How could she continue without him?
“No buts!” Ianel grabbed Ephema by the arm as he ran by, dragging her to her feet and pushing her in front of him. “Run, girl! I’m not dying in here. Darian, wherever he is, may be safer than we are.”
Wherever he is. The words struck hope in Ephema’s heart. It made sense. There wasn’t a body. Darian had just gone…somewhere. He’d come back. He had to come back. She prayed he’d come back.
They ran through the building and dove into the long tunnel that led away from the ruins. It lurched and swayed around them, held back by the passage of the Knights and lit by the glow from their weapons. Ephema stumbled and tripped as they went, keeping to her feet only by Ianel’s iron grip on her arm. She was going to have bruises, but she didn’t care.
The darkness of the passageway seemed never ending until they stumbled out into the world, where night had fallen. It was late, the moonlight obscured by the clouds that never parted.
Ephema burst out of the tunnel, Ianel still pulling her along. She was tired of being dragged, even as she was grateful for the support. “How…” She sucked in a breath, still running. “How did it get dark so fast?”
“We took too long playing housekeeper and clearing the floor. Even if it was necessary.” Tabor grimaced and stepped aside, allowing them to move past. He gripped his maul and his eyes focused on the horses where they stamped at the ground, fully alert. The night sounds were unfriendly, filled with the howls of the risen and something else. Something that shrieked above the wind. “Company! Iane
l, to your left!”
Ianel spun, taking the blow that would have taken off his head by the shield which rode across his back. The impact sent the surprised Knight and Ephema sprawling as a large creature shrieked in fury from its landing perch on the wall. It was humanoid only as an afterthought, its muscular arms and legs carrying it down the wall like a spider. It leapt, filthy claws and wicked teeth seeking to rip into its prey.
Ephema’s eyes widened, and she bit down on a shriek as she backed away. “What is that?”
“Wight! They sometimes nest near religious sites.” Tabor shouted, even as he surged forward to bodycheck the wight and push it away from Ianel, buying the other knight time to get to his feet. “Watch our backs, there will be more!”
Despite the surprise of the attack, Ianel scrambled to his feet and turned right back to the fray, coming in low at the creature’s belly as Tabor swung his maul over Ianel’s head. The two worked in perfect concert, their actions part practice and part instinct as they beat the creature back, crushing bone and joint until it fell still.
True to Tabor’s warning, more shapes detached themselves from the shattered stones, shrieking as they attacked.
“Lord Osephetin! Guide my strength!”
The enchanted weapons burst into flame that left traces in Ephema’s vision. She put her back to a pile of rubble and gripped the globe at her throat. She prayed for her friends and protectors, pleading for their strength and safety. Light filled the space between her fingers, gathering into a tight sphere before shooting out to wreathe the fighters in the Goddess’s light.
She couldn’t help Darian, wherever she was, but she was determined to do her best to help Tabor and Ianel.
The wights threw themselves against the knights, who turned back-to-back to protect each other and the mound of stone where Ephema stood. Hammer and maul fell with a steady rhythm, clashing with the screams and hisses of the monsters. Beyond them, additional movement told a grim tale of other visitors, attracted by the sounds of battle. They were surrounded.
Tabor slammed one of the wights in the chest, knocking it back several paces. He whipped around and a sharp whistle made it past his visor. The response to his call was immediate as the three warhorses came charging in, kicking and biting their way through the enemy forces. The shrill cries of the wights combined with the screams of the warhorses tore into Ephema’s ears, and she prayed harder, feeling like her bones might crack around the globe. She felt strength leaving her and saw claws slide off the pearly light around the knights and believed it was helping.
“Tabor!” Ianel’s voice was ragged and rushed as another blow slammed into his shield. “More coming! I count… Damn you!” He crushed the claws of a wight as it slashed at him, leaving furrows on his armor. “Would you just die already? There’s at least five more coming around the temple, and I swear I saw skeletons behind them.”
“Get to the horses! We can outrun them.”
Tabor’s instructions were cut short as the ground shook beneath their feet. Wave after wave of motion curled over the broken landscape, doing further damage to the ruins and knocking friend and foe alike to the ground. A silvery light flashed, too bright to be looked at, and Ephema threw her arm up to shield her watering eyes, trying to gain her feet on ground that refused to stay still.
After another moment, the horrid motion ceased. Silence reigned, and Ephema wondered if she’d gone deaf to match the blinding spots that danced across her vision. She blinked, trying to clear them. In the center point of the earthquake she was certain she saw something, no, someone.
She squinted as the familiar form fully materialized, and her heart gave a joyful lurch. “Darian!”
Tabor lurched to his feet first, shaking his head as though he too was struggling to see straight. He grabbed for Valor’s reins, the horses the only ones who seemed unbothered by the light show. “Mount up! Or none of us will see daylight again!”
Ephema scrambled to her feet, stumbling to Raven’s side. She was near to bursting with questions, but knew this was no time for them. Darian met her at the horse, pulling himself aboard before reaching for her. Her fingers closed over his with a tingle of warmth, but her attention shot away as she heard Ianel scream and swear.
She spun around to horror as one of the creatures pulled its claws free of Ianel’s body. He hammed it down, breaking bone and flesh into mush.
“Ianel!” Tabor shouted and spun his mount around, turning toward his companion.
“Too late!” Ianel set his feet, taking a firm grip on his hammer as he grimaced in pain. “Gut shot, I’m done. Ride! I’ll cover your retreat.”
“No!” Ephema tried to pull her hand away from Darian as the undead surged, encouraged by the waning light. “I can fix him!”
Darian refused to release her, his voice firm, his expression hidden under his visor. “There’s no time, Ephema. If we save him, we’ll be overrun.”
“No! I can do this!” She thrashed against Darian’s grip, the edges of his gauntlets digging into her skin and leaving long scratches that bled freely.
Ianel’s eyes were bright with pain, but his voice was steady as he shouted. “It’s been an honor! We will meet again! Come and get me you bastards!” Ianel howled a challenge as the undead circled, thrusting his curved hammer to the sky. “Lord Osephetin! Lend me thy grace! Your vessel awaits! With weapon held high, I come to thee!”
At his call, lightning illuminated the cloudy sky, racing toward Ianel in a web of silver and blue light. Eldritch essence raced across his broken body, running from his hammer down his armor. Blue light flashed at every joint as he turned toward the undead and charged.
Tabor rode alongside Darian and caught Ephema around the waist, hosting her onto Raven against her protests. “Ride! Damn you! We’ll die! Don’t make his sacrifice in vain!”
Ephema slammed against Darian’s armored back, clamping down on her cries of pain and burying her head against his cloak so she couldn’t see the pain she could hear. Darian kicked Raven into action, and they fled.
Behind them the lightning arced to the earth, illuminating Ianel’s form as it struck over and over, answering his death cry. A thunderous explosion tore the earth asunder, burying wight and skeleton alike, utterly destroying the remains of the temple and leaving behind only charred earth and singed bone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
After a few miles, Tabor allowed their flight to ease, though he did not allow them to stop. He pushed the horses and their weary riders through the night, hour after hour, pausing only as the horses required and passing out small chunks of mold touched cheese and hard bread. No one spoke. There were no words to be spoken.
Darian knew he needed to tell them about the God, and about the device, but it seemed too little consolation against Ianel’s death. Darian knew, better than many, the cost of being in Osephetin’s service. He felt emptier than he had after his caravan had been decimated for the closeness of the loss. He knew glory awaited Ianel, and the sacrifice had saved them all, but it still felt unfair, too soon to lose the jovial Knight whom nothing had seemed to touch.
Ephema hadn’t said a word since they’d fled, and he doubted she would until he broached the subject. Loss was something different to the Knights of Osephetin, and he couldn’t remember if they’d ever really discussed it. Fleeing from the crater made by Ianel’s corpse had hardly been the right time.
A sliver of light to the east caught his eye, the faintest lightening of the cloudy gloom, and Darian sighed in relief. Daybreak. Tabor kept them moving until full dawn, finally calling a halt near a muddy stream. “We’ll camp here for a bit and let the horses recover, then push on. I want to be out of these accursed lands as quickly as possible.”
Ephema slid off of Raven before Darian could help her, landing awkwardly and moving away from his offered hand. “At least you care about the horses.” The soft words were sharp as she stomped over to Star and begin stripping his gear.
Tabor started to speak, but Daria
n held his hand up and shook his head. He took his time removing the gear from Raven, rubbing her down, and checking her hooves for stones. When he had nothing more he could do but let her graze and drink he thumped her affectionately and made his way to Ephema. He prayed he’d know what to say to ease her hurting, hoping it would make him feel better too.
She had already done the basics for Star, and now stood at his head, working a brush through his mane. Darian sighed softly standing back far enough that she couldn’t hit him with the brush, though he didn’t think that was likely. “So, do you think you could have saved him?”
“It wasn’t a mortal wound. I could have fixed it.” She didn’t look up. The brush flew like a weapon in her hand, horse hair flying where the bristles passed. The weary warhorse didn’t seem to mind, too tired to protest. “I was shielding him. If I hadn’t stopped it would have helped him. I…You… you should have let me try!”
Darian kept his voice quiet, as though speaking to a wild thing. “Could you have saved us all?”
She rested her forehead against the broad neck in front of her. “We could have saved each other. We just needed a little more time.”
“We were out of time, Ephema. There were more wights coming out of the neighboring buildings. Other undead too. It was a death trap.” Darian placed his hand on her shoulder. “If we hadn’t run, we would have been slaughtered.”
“But…” The protest was light, her shoulders shaking as she wept. “It’s not fair. It’s not right. He did everything Osephetin asked of him, and he still died.”
“Ephema.” Darian turned her around gently to face him. “You’re exactly right. Ianel did what Osephetin asked of him, up to and including dying in service to our Lord, defending his friends and our world. If he hadn’t been true of heart and dedicated, his final call to the Dark Lord would not have been answered.