Fallen Ambitions

by Vann, Eric J.

  The cuts and scrapes must have been truly painful, as even after all his initial objections, it only took a few moments of thought for the man to extend his legs, allowing Celia to apply the thick ointment.

  “Yondil,” he said quietly as he raised his head for the first time.

  “What?” Celia asked. She was too busy massaging the medicine into his knees, trying not to think about how she would clean the smell off her fingers later.

  “Yondil… that is my name,” he said again. “It feels strange even saying it.”

  “How long have you been down here?” From his bruises, Celia decided, it must have been a while.

  Yondil shook his head before finally taking a swig of water from the skin. “I have no idea. There is no sun or moon in this cursed place. My daughter and I were one of the first; most of those who came with us are dead now.”

  Celia sat back, the vial empty. “We are from the Fallen. Do you know what that is?” she asked, noticing that Yondil’s attention had shifted to Vhal, who was again examining the metal carriages.

  “The new faction? You claimed the Central Wilds a week before the beasts attacked my village for the first time. We tried to hire adventurers to protect us, but they said they couldn’t help because of where we were.” The man lowered his head again before trying to move his legs.

  Celia stopped him. “The potion is powerful, but not so powerful. Give it a little more time.” His story only confirmed what she had already suspected; the power vacuum left behind after her Master’s successful claim of the Wilds had given these monsters the opportunity to expand. “Where are they?” she asked again.

  The man’s sunken eyes took in Celia, and then each of the Grauda, his cracked lips trembling. Finally, he let out a deep sigh. “Their lair is not far—the third doorway on the left. They are having a feast for some strange guest, but I did not know his name.”

  “Guest?” Vhal said from afar, and Yondil flinched at his voice.

  “Ye—yes. He visited at least once before. He comes and meets with their leader, and on his way out picks a few of the girls take with him.” The man shivered. “Always took a certain type: young, orange or red hair, and pale. I never was happier for my daughter’s dark hair. At least she is still here and not somewhere far off suffering through the Abyss knows what.”

  Vhal stroked his beard and looked away, seemingly lost in contemplation.

  “Are they all there? The Wervins?” Celia asked.

  “I don’t know, but I think most of them,” the man replied.

  “And the rest of the humans, your daughter? Are they there as well?”

  Yondil nodded. “We were kept caged in the back rooms unless called upon.”

  Celia stood. “Tell one of the males to stay with him,” she instructed the Grauda female. “Tell him to stay here until the ointment does its work, then help him back to the surface. The humans will take over from there.”

  With determination blazing within her at the prospect of finally reaching her target, Celia glanced at the now grinning lich. “It is time to end this.”

  * * *

  Slowly, Celia and the others moved forward, keeping themselves hidden as well as they could until they found the side enterance Yondil had told them of.

  Together, they entered the passage, which led down a set of stairs.

  Celia took the lead with Vhal close behind. The sounds of metal clanking and objects shattering grew louder and clearer the deeper they descended. The stairs led to a circular balcony, which overlooked what might have once been some sort of rest stop or tavern.

  The room was lit by a large bonfire at the center. A long stone bar was to one side, and stone tables stood all around. Hundreds of Wervins sat on improvised seats, nosily occupied with eating their meals. Celia couldn’t stop the grin from forming on her lips. They had finally found the creatures.

  The Wervins wore an assortment of furs and weapons, ranging from small knives to maces and hammers. Celia spotted one of the beasts almost twice the size of those around him. He wore a makeshift crown, made of several types of bones flimsily tied together with twine.

  That must be their leader: Gorshak.

  A bony hand gripped her shoulder and squeezed. Celia looked back and saw Vhal glaring, but his eyes were not on the Wervins—they were on a man who stood beside their leader, facing away from them.

  The man’s hands and neck were unusually pale, but he did not seem to be in any distress despite being surrounded by Wervins, and neither did they seem to mind him being close to them. He wore a regal coat in obsidian black, and Celia noted the chainmail showing at his sleeves. A black cape ran down his back, stopping just short of the ground, while the rounded head of a heavy metal mace was visible at his side… The emblem embroidered onto the cape looked familiar. Was that… was that a Caelian phoenix?

  It was, Celia realized. Why was there a man wearing Caelian heraldry down here?

  “Do not forget the reason we let you live, Gorshak,” the pale stranger said, his tone refined, his voice clear even above the growling and chewing of the surrounding Wervins. “You will complete the mission assigned to you or face the wrath of her Majesty.”

  “Gorshak now king!” the large Wervin replied, slamming a one-bladed axe against the stone table in front of him. “Gorshak give ugly man his stupid plant thing, now Gorshak make surfacers kneel to Gorshak’s Horde!”

  The man’s voice grew colder. “I asked for Dryad seeds too, you insufferable creature, not just the Grove Heart.”

  Celia glanced back at Vhal. “Who’s that?” she whispered, but the lich didn’t answer, his focus focused intently on the man below.

  “Vhal?” she asked again, a sense of unease growing within her as Vhal’s teeth began to clench. His hand gripped his staff so tightly she could hear the wood scrape against his bony fingers.

  He straightened suddenly, causing Celia to jerk backward in surprise. Vhal’s ethereal eyes were the darkest black now. The whole room actually grew darker, as if the light of the dancing flames below shied away from what approached. When Vhal turned to face her, there was no grin, nothing other than the promise of death in his stern expression.

  “Stay out of my way,” he said, his voice low, causing a shiver to run through her.

  She tried to say something, but her voice wouldn’t get pass the knot which had developed in her throat. Goosebumps covered her skin. What was happening? No, she knew what it was—Vhal’s Aura of Fear, but magnified many times. She began to panic as a thousand thoughts streamed through her mind: was this the moment she had feared all along? Was Vhal finally showing his true self?

  The Grauda stood like statues, as if any movement might provoke the lich and lead to a horrible death. Vhal swept past them and toward the spiral staircase at the far end of the balcony.

  Below them, the entire room grew silent as hundreds of pairs of eyes registered his movements. The gathering of Wervins shifted nervously, some even backing up against the walls.

  An awful cry broke through the silence as Gorshak jumped to his feet and pointed his axe at Vhal. “Stupid, stupid undead! You not supposed to be here. Undead be given north by tower! This place not north by tower! This place Gorshak’s!” he screeched. The large Wervin smashed his axe against a stone table before yelling, “Break stupid undead!”

  At this, the other Wervins collectively let out a loud battle cry and charged. Vhal, who was still making his way down the staircase, seemed utterly unperturbed by the chaos unfolding just ahead of him.

  The lich simply opened his palms, letting water mana stream from his hands to form symbols in the air. The symbols snapped together and flashed brightly before Vhal breathed the whole spell in.

  What happened next was so fast Celia, barely caught it. Vhal stood there for a moment, holding his breath, but just as the Wervins approached, he let it out.

  The spell appeared as a glittering blue cloud, its volume expanding over and over again as it hugged the floor and inched forward.
Celia’s eyes were glued to the scene as the Wervins charged into the cloud without care, their only thought to reach their enemy. Vhal, on the other hand, did not seem remotely worried by the swarm of hateful creatures targeting him, his black eyes scanning them as if they were mere pests. Just as the majority of the Wervins entered the blue cloud, he raised his left hand and snapped his fingers, once.

  The sound reverberated against the stone walls, only to be eclipsed by a sudden explosion of noise—a great shattering and tinkling, followed by an awful silence. A wave of freezing air blew in all directions, snuffing out the once raging bonfire.

  Celia shivered as it rushed over her. Then she quickly refocused her gaze on the scene below, her eyes opened wide at what the cloud had left at its wake.

  There stood a field of statues. The Wervins had been frozen instantaneously, their hateful expressions and aggressive stances captured in ice. A few had shattered legs or shoulders, the spell freezing them in a middle of a leap forward, or while unbalanced on one leg.

  Vhal let out a cough, a small puff of blue mist escaping his mouth before he continued on his way down the stairs. The few Wervins who had stayed behind, including Gorshak, were in shock. They stood there, their large jaws unhinged, their eyes darting back and forth. Some prodded or shook the frozen statues nearby, as if to check whether they were real.

  Vhal simply strode forward between his victims, his attention solely on another.

  The unknown man had his hand on his weapon, but after a quick glance around the room, he seemed to think better of it and turned to run. Celia caught a glimpse of his red eyes before he turned and disappeared into a side room. An even deeper shiver ran down her spine.

  Those red eyes, she had seen them before. Memories she had always tried to forget burst through: her father opening that front door, his shirt bloodied on one side, those red eyes glaring at her before he began yelling and stormed into their bedroom, where her mother had been.

  Vhal growled, a sound Celia had never heard from the lich before. He quickened his pace, trying to catch up, his attention so consumed by the man that he was no longer aware of his surroundings. Celia jumped to her feet and leaned forward against the balcony’s rail.

  “Vhal!” she yelled.

  The lich looked up—just in time for Gorshak’s axe to slam into his left shoulder. Celia winced at the sound of ripping cloth and cracking bone. The large Wervin screeched as it pulled its axe free, preparing for another strike, but a wall of bones exploded from the ground just then, pushing the beast back a few paces. Seeing their leader strike Vhal must have given the remaining Wervins some form of courage, as they all charged suddenly, renewing their attack.

  Celia watched as they slashed and stabbed at the bone wall, trying to break through. She watched, but her thoughts were not there. They were with that man, that man with the red eyes. She had always thought her father had been drunk during that fateful night—but now, the more she thought about it, the less natural they were. His eyes had been far too red. What else had happened that night? Had she forgotten, or recreated events in her state of shock?

  Movement nearby caused her to snap her attention back to the tavern. The Grauda had recovered from their paralytic fear at the same moment she had. What now? Should she help Vhal? Was he still on their side?

  She bit her lower lip as she came to a decision. “Come,” she shouted. “Let’s do what we came here for!”

  The Grauda took their positions along the length of the balcony, their bows aimed at the Wervins below, but they didn’t let their arrows loose. They didn’t have to.

  Vhal didn’t need their help. Black mana coiled around him, his staff’s black crystal glowing ominously. Celia thought she saw the crystal flicker green for a moment, but couldn’t be certain. The mana swirling around him howled as it coalesced into symbols before he boomed out in a much deeper voice that usual, “Pestilence!”

  The black symbol pulsed once, then melted and reformed into a ball of thick black liquid. The Wervins retreated a few steps as the sphere of tar hovered in the air above them. It roiled and bubbled—before hot shards began to rain down on the now panicking Wervins. They tried to hide, using the stone tables or their frozen brethren as cover. It mattered not.

  Horrific screams, screeches, and whimpers of pain blanketed the room. Black boils formed the instant the tar touched skin, and greenish-white puss and other bodily fluids began to leak from the spell’s victims. Even those who were able to secure a table for cover didn’t enjoy its safety for long. The black liquid simply hissed and melted it way through the rock in moments.

  Celia tried her best to look away, to ignore the putrid smell as she and the Grauda carefully made their way along the balcony and to the spiral staircase on the other side, ensuring none of that horrific black substance could reach them. By the time the deadly spell had run its course, Vhal was gone, disappearing into the same side door the stranger had run through.

  Celia surveyed the scene, holding down the contents of her stomach. The smells and carnage Vhal had left behind in his wake were appalling. The frost had begun to melt now, mixing with the blood and other fluids which drenched the ground. Celia caught the sound of a groan, and she followed it to its source: Gorshak, the leader of the Wervins, was sprawled on the floor, large black boils covering his head and arms. Blood and bile stuck to his once-white skin. One eye was missing from its socket, replaced by what she could only describe as a pool of pus, while the other slowly looked up at her. His large jaws opened and closed as the creature struggled to speak. But nothing came out, only a final wheeze as the remaining air within him emptied his now lifeless body.

  Celia felt no sympathy for these creatures, none at all. Death was all they deserved.

  Her attention shifted to the side door, where Yondil said they kept the other humans, where Vhal and that stranger had vanished. It was the only path forward.

  Celia hesitated. The idea of facing Vhal in his current state made her skin crawl. But those red eyes, the answers that person might have…

  A feminine scream emanated from beyond the side door, freeing Celia from her state of indecision. She rushed into the side room, the Grauda following closely behind.

  She found herself in a short hallway, which led to a large square room. It was full of cages with iron bars—occupied cages. Some were on the floor, arranged into blocks with pathways between. Others hung from the ceiling, their occupants’ legs dangling from between the bars.

  The cages were segregated by gender. The women within were naked and ranged in age from children to the elderly. The majority looked withered, catatonic. Only a few appeared healthy in comparison—they must have been newer additions. None approached Celia or spoke. They were all shivering, huddled as far back from the bars as physically possible.

  The men were not doing any better, and in some cases even worse. While the woman appeared to be starving and sick, the men bore wounds and scars across their entire bodies. Without exception, their knees were the most damaged parts.

  Celia moved between the cages, her gaze shifting between the occupants before she stumbled on another scene.

  At the other end of the passage, a cage was open. Its bars and floor were coated in a layer of ice, and four female human bodies lay sprawled within—along with two Wervins. The humans had their throats cut. It looked as though the Wervins had decided to execute their captives, but the job had been rushed, messy. Celia picked up a blade from the floor and knocked it against the stone wall to free it of ice—it was made of bone, she saw, and was half-blunted. Celia shook her head as she tossed the blade aside, disgusted. It would have been less cutting and more sawing through their throats with a blade like that.

  The two Wervins—the ones who had clearly committed this cowardly act—had met a very different end. An ice spike protruded from each of their chests. As she looked, a sudden rage enveloped her and Celia lashed out and kicked one of the corpses with enough force to roll it over and shatter the ice spike
under its weight. So much death and suffering… Celia would give Vhal the benefit of the doubt, just for his actions here.

  “Spread out, find them and kill them—all of them,” Celia commanded, and the Grauda hissed and fanned out into the many aisles between the cages. It didn’t take long for the sounds of battle to echo around the room, accompanied by Wervin yelps and growls.

  Celia walked through the maze of cages, trying to find the red-eyed man. There must have been over a hundred cages, not all of which were occupied, but it gave Celia an idea of what the Wervins had in mind. There was no point in making or stealing so many cages if they hadn’t been planning on using them. She thought about breaking the locks to the cages, but having panicked humans running around while the fight continued seemed counterproductive. For now, they were safer were they were. Once the danger was dealt with, she would release them.

  Celia peered into one cage and shook her head at the horrific state of the human girl within. She had light brown hair that was matted with filth. Her lips had lost all color while her ribs pushed out painfully against her pale skin. Celia let out a deep sigh. This girl wouldn’t survive; there was no way she could be moved in that state. The only thing that could save her life now was powerful healing magic, magic Celia did not have.

  Celia stiffened as she heard something shift close by. She ducked and a loud clang and the sound of metal shearing rang above her. She looked up for a split second to see the familiar mace embedded into the cage’s metal bar where her head had been moments ago. The force of the strike had caved the metal bars inward, even breaking one in two.

  Celia swung her tail, using her Demon Claws skill to harden it just in time to sweep her assailant’s legs out from under him. She rushed forward with her claws at the ready, but her attacker jumped back. Whoever this man was, he was fast, he might even have the Reflex points to rival Celia’s.

  “A demon?” the man asked curiously, his voice calm, his accent refined.