by James Duvall
Morgen backed slowly toward the archway, wishing very much for the proper staff hidden away in her apartment. She cursed as she considered the great distance between her and it. The lamplighter's staff would have to do. Footfalls like a heavy drum announced her foe's inevitable approach. She could see him advancing down into the dark valley at a quick clip. Dark scales covered its bulky hide. Wings and scales alike bled smoke as it galloped across the alien terrain. Bright yellow eyes devoid of pupils were fixed on the city's lone defender.
“This would be a really good time to get up!” Morgen shouted back to the Shankari. She hurried to the nearest and found him quite unconscious.
No time. The nightmare was quickly closing the distance. Morgan returned to the archway where she could eke out a small advantage. She would make her stand here. The walls would be her shield and the nightmare wouldn't be able to maneuver.
Morgen had fought nightmares before, in a life before the lamplighter.
She twirled her staff as she limbered up, painting a bright ring of golden fire in the gloom, weaving enchantments in the eternal night. The nightmare lunged for the spell, forcing its draconic form into the archway with enough force to crack stone. It clawed the earth, scrambling to shove its body beneath the wall.
Faster and faster Morgen spun the staff, white hot flame burning in the night. The nightmare screamed as her spell bloomed, the flame purified. Holy fire surged from the staff and fell upon the creature like a tumbling wall. The monster roared in fury, drawing back from the pain. It brushed burning embers from its smokey and eyes and lunged against the archway with renewed fury. Deadly claws black as tar groped for Morgen in the darkness, sundering earth and shattering stones like a farmer's plow. Now the beast was forcing its bulk through the archway, snarling and ripping up the ground as it lurched toward its prey.
Motion in the corner of her eye grabbed Morgen's attention. A young sadean panther stirred. Morgen rushed to his side. She recognized him.
“Folmir, get up!” she snapped. The soldier grumbled a drunken response.
“Why won't anyone listen tonight?!” Morgen lamented. She stamped on his tail. “Get up!”
The soldier howled his pain, limbs thrashing as he sprang awake. The nightmare's roar brought him to his feet in a hurry, his training prompting him to find his weapon without thought. He held the halberd resolute, jaw set as he stood unyielding before the grim prospect of fighting the Forgemaster's giant, thrashing creation.
“What is that thing?” he demanded.
“A nightmare! One of the Forgemaster's creations that hunts in the Cold,” Morgen answered.
Folmir checked the status of his fellow guardsmen. Here and there the dazed soldiers were getting back to their feet. The nightmare's roars and the screech of bending metal obscured shouted questions like thunder in a savage storm.
Morgen fetched a dropped halberd and heaved it into the hands of another Shankari that had found his feet. By then the nightmare's claws had widened the archway considerably. It would be upon them in a moment.
“I'm going to bring the wall down on it!” Morgen shouted. The Shankari gave her a wide berth.
Morgen raised her staff high, forcing every bit of her power though it. Fireballs spat from the weapon in rapid succession, crashing into the monster's bulky hide like a meteor shower all focused on one spot. Each successive burst made the wall shudder a more, bits of dust and grout falling from the cracks. A crystal cracked and smoked in Morgen's staff. Warped and molten, it dropped from the weapon like a falling star, burning white hot and sinking through the foliage to smolder against the bare earth. One or two more crystals would render the staff useless. She couldn't risk it. Carefully she aimed for the sagging archway's inner wall, just above the monster's shoulder.
A well-placed blast dropped the portcullis on the nightmare full force, pinning it against the ground and driving cruel metal spikes into its back. The monster snarled and thrashed in fury as it tried to squeeze under the heavy gate, thick black smoke pouring from its wounds. Another blast brought the entire structure crashing down on it, the great door cracking and splintering beneath a mountain of broken stone. The creature's roar was squelched beneath the thunderous avalanche. Thin tendrils of black smoke seeped from the quiet rubble, gradually lessening.
“...think it's dead?” Folmir asked. Morgen stared at the smoking rubble and then looked up through the newly created gap at the dark stony mountains far beyond and the desolate, eerie purple plains where once had been vibrant meadows and forested mountains with snow-capped peaks.
“I hope so...” she said, wearily. “C'mon, let's get out of here.”
“What witchcraft could strike the stars from the sky?” Folmir asked, looking up at the barren expanse that served as the Cold's sky. Magic hung so thick in the air that it lit up the eternal night in dim bands. Under the splendorous aurora it was hard to believe such a place could be so dangerous. For a few minutes everything was deceptively peaceful, but the flutter of leathery wings bespoke a new horror dawning as unnatural creatures settled on nearby rooftops. Bright yellow eyes surveyed the guardsmen and the lamplighter like owls over a prairie of mice. They had a hunger in their eyes that would never be satisfied, held at bay only by the spectacle of death they had just borne witness to.
“We can't stay here,” Morgen prompted, tugging at Folmir's sleeve. He looked down at her and squinted at her in the gloom. Standing upright she barely came to his shoulders. Something seemed to suddenly click for him and his eyes lit up in recognition.
“You're the lamplighter girl,” he said, wide-eyed and pointing. It sounded a lot like an accusation.
“I am.”
“That's all you have to say?” he asked with narrowed eyes. His tail flicked sharply, telling Morgen that the discussion of her identity was far from over. No ordinary person could wield a lamplighter's rod as she had.
“I am the lamplighter,” Morgen insisted.
A short time later Morgen looked out over the city from the relative safety of the church tower. Nightmares, gargoyles, and creatures she couldn't begin to identify swarmed through the streets, converging on the city's namesake tower. She could see waves of arrows coming down like sheets of dark rain, but the monsters persisted. Imre and Folmir watched in solemn silence at her side.
“These are creatures cast from Kalthiress's forge,” Imre said somberly. “Powerful dark creatures... What manner of place could be so filled with evil?”
“It's called the Cold,” Morgen explained. “I've seen it once before. One of our junior members 'sank.' He tried to teleport using a flicker spell. We looked for him for three days before we had to call off the hunt.”
“Did he ever come back?” Imre asked, anxiously.
Morgen simply shook her head.
“How far have we been moved?” Folmir asked. He was having trouble sitting still and had taken to pacing circles around the overlook.
“It's not that simple,” Morgen answered. “We're not in Ryvarra anymore. It's a different place. One you couldn't walk to or sail to. The Cold links all the worlds together. There's a river, some say. Right through the center, and all the magic of all the worlds flows through it; the arcane wellspring that serves as headwaters of all the flows of magic. It is an untamed place, beset with terrors and unchecked by the light.”
“So these terrors... can they be killed? By magic?” Folmir asked, stopping in front of the human girl.
“Not without my staff,” Morgen said, prodding at one of the cracked gems on the lamplighter's staff. A little shard broke off and tumbled to the floor. She looked out the window in the direction of her apartment. From her vantage point she could see the old building. It seemed much too far away.
***
On the north end of the city, the Merchant Gate had fallen. The Shankari lay dead on the blood-stained road. The gate lie in ruins, bashed in, twisted and broken. Two nightmares smouldered in death, testifying to the valor of those that had fallen in the city's def
ense. A silver-haired maiden dressed in a hooded cloak and robes white as snow walked among the carnage. She stopped where the gate had once stood, pulled her hood down, and entered the fallen city. Life flowed in her wake. The Shankari breathed once again and took their weapons in hand, forming ranks behind the silver-haired maiden. Zeal shone in her eyes and the darkness was driven before her.
Chapter 22
Emberfall
Sundor Tower, The Cold
This place will snare you with its beauty, then kill you with your folly.
~Archmage Tandraluk, In the Year of the Lord, 383
“That's the place,” Morgen said, pointing out a row of small houses all built side-by-side and atop each other. Folmir took the spyglass and looked out over the fallen city. Even without the glass Morgen could see the streets were overrun. It would be a battle to reach the staff, but the church would not go overlooked for much longer.
“There are many...” Folmir said grimly as he offered her the spyglass.
Morgen took one last look before putting it away. What would normally be a short walk from the old church had become a long way, beset with trials faced only in the darkest of nightmares.
“It will be worth it,” Morgen reassured him. The soldier hid it well, but she could see the fear in his eyes. His silvery tail twitched at the tip with anxiety. He kept a tight grip on his halberd and his claws anxiously grated against the soft wooden floor. Great as the shankari were, every man had his limit. Most would find it long before they came to a place like this.
Folmir closed his eyes in thought. When he opened them again his nervous energy was gone. “We have need of your strength, Morgen Dekker.”
Down in the chapel, Morgen peered out through the keyhole. Valor Square was empty for the first time since she'd come to know it. Folmir stood next to her, waiting dutifully in his armor with halberd in hand.
“It's clear,” Morgen said in a quiet voice.
“I am prepared to face this with you,” Folmir answered. He stretched his limbs as she climbed onto his feral back.
“Are you ready?” Folmir asked, looking back over his shoulder.
Morgen wasn't sure, but she nodded anyway. In the many years she had spent living among the panthers, she had never been carried by one. Under ordinary circumstances she would not have dreamed of asking, but the leopard-man could outpace her fourfold and if anything could bring them safely through the Cold-blighted streets, it was speed.
“Just like riding a horse,” Morgen said, mostly to herself.
Folmir looked back again. “What is?”
“Ah, right, Arcamynian saying... Don't worry about it. I'm ready.”
“Watch out for each other,” Imre offered up in quiet support. He seemed anxious, shifting his weight back and forth. His tufted tail beat against the ground like it were a drum.
“We will come back for you,” Morgen promised. Imre had the look of a man convinced he would die in the very room he stood. No kind words would turn away his fate if the Forgemaster's demons came while Morgen was gone. The shankari would hold as long as they could.
“Keep us and guide us,” Imre said reverently, holding up the holy symbol around his neck. He closed his eyes and kissed the silver amulet.
“On my count,” Folmir said. “Three... two... one!”
Two shankari heaved the church door open.
Folmir bolted from the church and across the open square like lightning from a rumbling storm cloud. An otherworldly wail carried through the streets as shadows and fiends took swift pursuit of them. Smoky tendrils snaked through the air like a net forming around them. Folmir's unrelenting charge saved them from being caught as the chords came together in a malaise behind them. Morgen flung a spray of flickering embers into the shadows, so small and faint as to be nearly invisible. The demons would not expect the power within them.
“Brace yourself!”
The embers found their mark in a fiery chorus of explosions. Morgen buried her face against Folmir's back, shielding herself from the bits of flying debris. The demon pack burst through the flame and smoke, the fallen replaced by new dark forms. With slavering jaws agape and hungry, their soulless yellow eyes remained fixed upon their prey.
Folmir slid around a corner, then sailed over another of the demons as it came at him head-on. A second met a gruesome end, impaled on the guardsman's halberd. He flung the dying body aside and struck another with brutal efficiency, slicing deep into the side of its neck, leaving a clear path ahead.
“There! It's there!” Morgen shouted, pointing. Folmir brought her right to the door. Morgen felt for the key, but didn't need it. The sadean guardsman took a flying leap at the door and crashed into it with all of his weight. The hinges snapped in an instant. The snow leopard man and the door fell into the house and slid across the floor. Morgen tumbled free. The world spun around her. She hit the ground over and over, rolling.
To her amazement when her vision cleared Folmir was already back on all fours, swinging his halberd and casting sprays of demon blood across the floor. He advanced on the door, impaling the demon he found there and pushing it screaming back out onto the street. He dropped the halberd, switching to a side sword and buckler. Under the old bed frame Morgen scrabbled for her staff and pulled it from the dusty recesses.
The old weapon hummed with strength in Morgen's hand. She could feel the currents of magic flowing through it. Where she had to force the lamplighter's staff, this weapon pulled on her, hungering for use. A moment later Folmir was forced back under a concerted attack of two more capable demons. Folmir was clear. Morgen unleashed the emberstorm's wrath. The smokey creatures never made it across the threshold.
Folmir and Morgen fought side-by-side back to the church, joined by the three shankari that had followed them into the fallen streets. Guarded on each side by a powerful shankari guardsman, Morgen dealt blow after blow to the enemy. White-hot fire surged from her old weapon, cleansing the street with holy, cleansing flame.
Back at the church Morgen returned to her post atop the tower. Up the hill the battle still raged. From her vantage point she could see that the beleaguered fortress would not hold out much longer. Sundor Tower had been breached. The defenders had fallen back to the main keep. They had hours left at most. She could only watch helplessly as creatures of darkness spilled over the walls.
“Morgen?” Folmir said. He'd just come up from the chapel.
“Yes?” Morgen looked back. Imre and Folmir had brought one of the faryian panthers from the Soldiers' Gate with him.
“This is Captain Vorsen,” he said. Morgen rose quickly.
“You're an Emberfall mage?” Vorsen asked. The weapon Morgen now held was proof enough of that. He took the ruined lamplighter's staff from its resting place in the corner. “I never would have suspected our lamplighter was a mage.”
“I've been keeping a low profile,” she said. “My name is Morgen Dekker. I am an Emberfall mage of the first order. I live here in exile, and my reasons for it are my own. Given the circumstances, and my years of quiet service, I hope that you will accept my services, such as they are.”
The Shankari captain looked at her for a moment. Doubt swirled in his dull golden eyes as he weighed the strange circumstance of her exile and years of living well below her station against the immediate need of soldiers. Fort Sundor was unprepared for an all-out assault by such numbers. The wall was breached and the city had fallen. All that was left was to survive, escape, and regroup in Andrlossen.
“You can trust me in this,” Morgen said, sensing his concerns. Three years in hiding spoke of a great crime. She knew he had to be wondering what she had done, and if she could be trusted with the lives of his men.
“Very well, you have already assisted us once. For that you have my thanks,” he said, extending his hand. Morgen shook it, forcing a smile. He had a grip like a vice. “For now you have my trust, but if you turn against us know that we do not have the resources to take prisoners in the Cold.”
“Then that is all we will discuss of it. Now, what are we up against?” Vorsen asked, stepping up to the window.
“Nightmares, demons, gargoyles...” the lamplighter said, sharing his view. “Wolves made of smoke, apparently.”
To what had once been the northwest, just inside the Merchant's Gate, a bright silver light surged over and over. The sea of nightmares was pushed back, fleeing its searing presence. Even at this distance Morgen had to shield her eyes.
“What... what deliverance is this?” Imre asked breathlessly.
Morgen shook her head. “It... it can't be...” In her mind she could hear a voice, soft and sweet, but strong and glorious.
I am the Light that shines in the darkest night. I am hope where none is found. I am victory in the jaws of defeat. I am the song of salvation when all others are silenced. I am Sacrys, Keeper of Light, Servant of the One Savior. Join me, all who stand in the Light, and this city shall not fall!
Morgen and Imre exchanged glances. She could tell he had heard it as well.
Imre's eyes had lit up with a vitality she had never seen in him before. The usually reserved priest began to cheer.
“It is her! It is her!” he rejoiced. “We are saved! Our prayers have been answered by the Keeper of Light!”
Morgen reached her for her weapon. “I'm going.”
“Gather the others,” Vorsen said to Folmir. “Tell them we are going to join a Keeper of the Word in battle. Live or die, there can be no greater fate than this.”
***