Into the Madness

by Richard H. Stephens

  His heart caught in his throat. Blood stained her clothes and covered her exposed skin. He nearly swooned.

  She glanced at her palms, a throwing knife clutched firmly in each hand. Panting hard, trying to gain control of her breathing, Larina said, “Pfft. Tis the creature’s blood, you silly lug.”

  Olmar’s thoughts cleared. He looked back. A stream of demons entered the eastern span between a bare tree and a jagged stump. Pollard had his hands full keeping the creatures off of platform, while Alhena, Rook and Sadyra blasted and shot at the demons taking up positions on the bridge to throw spears at the giant.

  Olmar ran back to the platform to give Pollard some much-needed assistance.

  Larina assumed a spot close to the platform’s northern entrance and picked away at the demons trying to join those battling Olmar and Pollard.

  “We need to get off the bridge!” Rook’s voice rose above the din of guttural grunts, moans and clashing weapons. He ran over to Larina with Sadyra and Alhena on his heels. “Give them cover and then follow. I’ll bring up the rear.”

  Larina nodded, her attention on the eastern span.

  Rook ran up to Olmar and Pollard. “We can’t keep this up! Pull back. We’re running out of arrows and Alhena can’t be effective without bringing the bridge down. Disengage!”

  Rook fell back to the northern entrance and helped Larina clear the area around Pollard and Olmar. When the closest of the demons were felled, Pollard and Olmar fled onto the northern span.

  Olmar looked to the east. A steady line of the detestable creatures were still swarming the bridge. Even if his group made it to the other side, the battle wouldn’t be over. Given the number of creatures coming after them, sooner or later, they would be overrun in the mountains beyond. Trying to keep his footing, he absently wondered if Helleden had sent the entire minion horde after them.

  He reached the far end of the bridge and helped Pollard stumble to safety. Alhena joined them soon afterward, followed by Larina and Sadyra.

  “What’s ‘e doin’?” Olmar asked between laboured breaths. Everyone followed his gaze.

  Rook had been following close behind Sadyra but for some reason he now knelt in the middle of the northern span, his bow slung over his shoulder and a dagger in hand.

  Olmar’s eyes widened as it dawned on him what the former leader of the Group of Five was up to. In the face of hundreds of screaming demons charging across Treacher’s Gorge, Rook feverishly cut away at the handrail hawsers.

  “Why’s ‘e doin’ it there?” Olmar wondered aloud, then shouted, “Rook! No! Do it ‘ere. Gets yourself up ‘ere!”

  Pollard pointed. “He can’t. He’s injured.”

  Olmar saw it now. A javelin protruded from Rook’s thigh, its cumbersome length preventing him from moving across the bridge without getting caught up in the numerous rope newels strung between the handrails and the ropes supporting the bridge deck.

  “Olmar, no!” Larina shrieked.

  Olmar charged onto the bridge, leaving his warhammer on the ground. Larina tried to go after him but Pollard lifted her off the ground kicking and screaming.

  The eastern handrail frayed and severed beneath Rook’s blade. He struggled to maintain his place on the bridge as the tension released. He pulled himself to the opposite side of the narrow deck and went at the second rail.

  Demons ran along the northern span, closing on him.

  His dagger made quick work of the western rail. Again, he almost pitched into the abyss. Catching himself, he wasted no time cutting into the thick hawser running beneath the western edge of the deck boards.

  The rope shredded and released. The entire structure bucked. Several demons on both spans were flung from the failing structure.

  Olmar fell to his face, his feet sliding over the edge. He grabbed at the decking but his sausage-like fingers were too thick to slide between the planks.

  The weight of his hips dragged him out over the abyss. He flailed his arms around, desperately trying to grasp anything. In his panic, he had the sinking sensation he would never hold Larina again.

  The demons were almost on Rook. Another spear impacted the deck board immediately in front of him and then one struck him in the left shoulder. He cried out in pain. The impact forcing him to flail his free hand behind him to keep from falling backward.

  Catching himself, he leaned forward and furiously sawed at the second deck rope; the boards around him slanted at a perilous angle. The agile demons closest to him discarded their tridents, dropped to all fours, and scrambled along the intact edge of the bridge.

  Olmar’s hands closed on a handrail hawser, his entire bulk hanging from the side of the bridge. Alhena and Rook had mentioned that fourteen thousand feet separated the bridge from the valley below. Fourteen thousand feet of nothingness. At least he’d have time to reminisce one last time about the previous night—his mind strangely calm in the face of his inevitable demise. A luckier man there never was, he thought, smiling at his good fortune to have finally been loved.

  The chaos on the bridge was but a distant collage of screams separating his beloved from the growling hunger of the demons scrabbling toward Rook.

  Dangling over the gorge, Olmar’s misted eyes concentrated on the bowman, willing him to hurry. Rina’s fate depended on it. “Come on Rook. Ye can do it. I knows ya can.”

  The first demon leapt at Rook’s bowed head just as the bridge lurched and the last hawser released.

  It seemed to Olmar like he hung suspended for an eternity as the reality of what was happening set in. Almost in slow motion, the bridge dropped away, filling him with a bizarre sense of weightlessness.

  His friends called out to him but he couldn’t hear them as the ridge they clung to became farther away. A whirlwind of memories flashed through his mind so quickly he hadn’t time to concentrate on just one.

  Wind ruffled his hair, curling his beard around his face. He thanked the gods for blessing such a lucky Kraidic whoreson—even if his luck had only lasted for a day. The grateful whelp of a tart.

  Unlikely Allies

  “TYGRA!” Silurian shouted after the flailing body of the Kraidic warrior. He almost slipped over the edge himself watching Tygra drop away.

  Silurian dropped to a crouch. Up the slope, a hooded wraith stood over Melody, her staff held in its clawed hands. Beneath its cowl, grey skin differentiated it from the other demons. Similar to the one he’d seen in Wizard’s Gibbet.

  He recalled the Kraidic Emperor’s words to the wraith but they didn’t make any sense. “Release her, demon, or I’ll split your skull.”

  The relevance of Tygra’s actions slammed into him. Had he been wrong about the Kraidic warriors all this time? He shook his head. They had made no effort to hide their desire to kill Melody in the Serpent’s Nest, and more recently after she had survived her ordeal inside the earth wyrm.

  He had been through so much lately. Everything was a confusing mess of deception and betrayal. Except for Melody, he didn’t dare trust anyone.

  Karvus circled warily above the gaping hole in the mountainside, eyeing two creatures Silurian estimated to be Pollard’s size, if not bigger. Karvus’ bulk was diminutive in the face of the horned demons.

  Silurian swallowed as the wraith’s focus fell on him.

  Dagan growled something incoherent and brought the staff to life.

  Standing precariously on the brink, Silurian couldn’t move without fear of sliding to his death.

  “It’s time for you to die, Mintaka.” The staff flared brightly.

  Silurian threw himself to the ground, fully expecting to bear the brunt of a fireball. He heard a surprised grunt as the staff discharged a flaming orb into the sky.

  Dagan fell to his backside in a flurry of dark robes, sneering at Melody as she ran down the slope.

  “Mel, stop!” Silurian called out. Her momentum would carry her over the edge.

  She dug in her heels but the ice beneath the snow had her sliding out of control. She
dropped to her backside and dug in her palms, a long squeal escaping her mouth.

  Silurian jammed the edge of his boots into the snow and scrambled to intercept her—his first sliding steps almost taking him over the edge before his boots regained purchase.

  Beyond Melody, Karvus engaged the red beasts, his massive battle-axe a swirling blade of death. One of the demons bled profusely against a snow drift.

  Melody slowed enough for Silurian to dive at her. He latched onto her cloak as she drove her fingers, elbows and heels into the ground, pushing a wall of snow ahead of her.

  Silurian lay fully outstretched, one hand entangled in her clothing, his other clinging to his sword, digging a quillon into the ice.

  The hem of his tunic lifted over his belt but he had no time to worry about the scraping cold. Melody slid past him, dragging him toward the ledge head first. He forced the toes of his boots into the frozen ground. Their combined efforts slowed their demise but it wasn’t enough.

  Melody’s feet slid over the edge. She screamed and Silurian shouted. He wrenched on her cloak, “Mel!”

  They suddenly stopped, but not because of anything he’d done.

  His breeches tugged at his hips. Karvus stood over him, clutching a pant leg in one hand while his other hand hung onto the end of his battle-axe, driven into the ice.

  Karvus grunted under the strain—his gloved fingers slipping dangerously close to the end of his axe handle.

  Melody cried out, her feet dangling in thin air.

  Silurian dragged her out of danger, his shoulder aching under the strain.

  Karvus gritted his teeth. “I can’t hold on much longer.”

  Silurian gave Melody a huge tug, the strain causing Karvus to lose his grip on the axe. He slipped and fell across Silurian’s legs as another fireball sizzled past where he’d just been standing.

  Silurian reefed on Melody’s clothing and brought her within reach of Karvus. “Take her!”

  As soon as Karvus grabbed onto Melody, Silurian spun around in the snow and pulled on his sword, the glowing blade had frozen itself into the ice. He willed the earth blood to life, infusing the blade with heat. The sword slid free in time for him to intercept the next discharge from Melody’s staff. The flaming orb shattered off his blade into a harmless spray of fizzling fire.

  The wraith bared black fangs, clearly angry at the turn of events.

  Silurian spotted the other demon that had stood by Dagan, the creature desperately trying to keep its entrails from spilling through bloody claws.

  It wasn’t lost on Silurian how hard the emperor and his aide had fought to rescue him and his sister. Glancing up the slope, he couldn’t help wonder why.

  With the wraith in possession of Melody’s staff, Silurian knew he was their only hope of getting off the mountain alive. The earth blood enchanted sword felt oddly familiar with the magical presence the blade had once possessed, yet it was different. He strode toward the demon with his sword held before him, careful to keep himself between Dagan and Melody.

  Dagan released two more blasts, one of fire and a second of ice. Silurian parried, his sword absorbing them both.

  The wraith sneered. Without warning it charged around Silurian’s reach, running toward the drop-off.

  Silurian tried to give chase but his boots slipped out from underneath him and he fell to his knees.

  Dagan jumped in the air, holding his cloak out to either side.

  “Nooo!” Silurian cried out. The wraith was going to glide down to the forest far below with Melody’s staff in hand.

  A whirling battle-axe whistled through the air, embedding itself between Dagan’s shoulder blades.

  The wraith screeched. His robes crumpled in the up-rushing air as he plummeted to the forest below.

  Dangling Angels

  Pollard nearly lost his fingers as the northern span of the bridge fell away. He had put Larina down and foolishly grasped a limp handrail hawser in a futile effort to do something in the face of his friends’ death—anything.

  Beside him, Larina screamed continuously. If not for Sadyra and Alhena holding onto her, he was sure she would have jumped onto the falling bridge.

  What remained of the bridge spun wildly. Dozens of demons fell, following Rook and Olmar into the abyss.

  It was as if a battering ram had taken Pollard in the stomach. His mind struggled to comprehend the loss. Olmar, a man who cared for everyone he met, even though life had been anything but kind to him. And Rook Bowman, the former leader of the Group of Five. Husband of the Wizard of the North and, according to Alhena, vital to any chance they had of defeating Helleden. With Silurian’s demise in the Under Realm, both of the legendary heroes were now lost.

  Tears streaked his face. He pulled his fingers free of the hawser as it snapped tight against the edge of the cliff at his feet.

  Larina fell to her knees, hands clutching the first deck plank and stared out into the gorge. “Oh, Olmar, what have you done? You can’t leave me. Olmar, please!” Her voice cracked and she nearly followed him to her death.

  Sadyra grasped Larina’s sword belt and buried her face into the small of her back, crying and pleading with her to move away from the brink.

  Pollard dropped down beside them, afraid they were both about to slip over the edge.

  A biting wind swirled down from the snow-capped peak above. He didn’t care.

  A surreal sensation of weightlessness, followed by an impression of what he thought flying must feel like, washed over him as the bridge let go. Entangled in a length of rope and bridge decking, he swung toward the grey cliff face of the northern summit.

  He fell for what seemed like a long time. Impacting the unforgiving rock face left him senseless.

  He was certain he’d blacked-out. Pain pierced his skull and exploded through his left shoulder. The reality of the recent events hit him with jarring clarity. He hung suspended by his left wrist, his hand twisted between two deck planks and one of the dangling deck hawsers. He couldn’t feel his arm.

  He hazarded a look up. Hundreds of mangled deck planks rose out of sight, the entire structure banging gently against the cliff in the wind.

  Below him, a dozen planks clung to the severed hawsers, the only thing separating him from a fourteen-thousand-foot drop. Of Rook, there was no sign.

  “Bless your heart, Rook. You did good.” He winced. The rope around his wrist tightened—the fiery pain in his separated shoulder, unbearable. All he wanted was to free himself from the agony. “I’m sure to be followin’ ya soon, me friend.”

  Gritting his teeth, he reached up with his free hand to lessen the pull of his body weight on his damaged shoulder. The ensuing pain jolted him. Bellowing his misery, his throaty growl mocked him as it echoed back and forth between the cliffs.

  There was no way he’d be able to haul his bulk high enough to wiggle his left hand free. Gritting his teeth to keep from crying in the face of the incredible pain, blackness claimed him.

  “Don’t you leave me, Lunkhead. You hear me? Olmar! Wake up!”

  An angelic voice disturbed his dream, drawing him away from the sweet embrace of dear Larina. He snuggled in closer, careful not to suffocate her beneath his massive bulk. She lay asleep in the crook of his arm, her beautiful face peaceful. He reached out to ever so gently stroke her soft cheek, careful not to wake her.

  If only he could stop that damn noise from disturbing the tranquility of the forest glade. It was relentless—begging him to leave his sweet dream.

  Something slapped him. Repeatedly. He jerked his head back. An intense pain seized him, pulling him away from the blissful glade and back into consciousness.

  Comprehension of his predicament slammed into him—tangled hopelessly amongst the remains of the bridge he vowed never to cross.

  He grinned despite the hopelessness. He had conquered his fear and saved Larina. He was going to die content, albeit, in an agonizingly slow fashion. His grin widened. What a sight his carcass would be to whoever stumble
d across the grisly scene.

  He stared at the clouds drifting below, beckoning him to drop into their false embrace. If only. His ensnared arm had gone totally numb. He wished his damaged shoulder would be so kind.

  “Olmar! You’re alive! Oh, my sweet man. Hang on.”

  “Rina?” he croaked looking around.

  “Don’t talk, dearest Lunky. We’re here.”

  He spied the face of an angel clinging to the broken bridge just above his snagged wrist. Fear seized him, but not for himself.

  Larina flashed a heart-melting smile and looked up the cliff face, her words almost inaudible in his bleary state. “Hurry, Sadie, hurry!”

  Sadie? She was here too? He had formed a familial bond with the cheeky lassie over the last few months. He would do anything for her.

  “Rina, no,” he tried to say but his words wouldn’t pass his thick tongue.

  Sadyra’s lithe form appeared above Larina, a length of thick rope in one hand.

  Olmar wanted to plead with the dangling angels to leave him to his fate. He couldn’t bear the thought of being responsible for their deaths as well.

  He frowned. How did Sadie manage to cling to the bridge with only one hand, swaying over a drop that took his breath away? One slip and she was gone.

  He shook his head, trying to tell them not to. At least he thought he shook it. He couldn’t tell. Maybe he was dreaming. Perhaps he’d already died.

  And then he knew pain like he’d never experienced before. Sadyra and Larina pulled on his jerkin. His body, all five hundred pounds of it, began to move up the cliff in fits of starts and stops.

  It didn’t make sense. Neither woman weighed more than one of his legs, and yet, they lifted him out of the gorge. He tried to listen to their strained voices, hear their snippets of conversation, but the words were lost on him. One moment Larina was close to his face; the next it was Sadyra. And then…Pollard? Nothing made sense anymore.