“No,” Dellbar replied. This time, it wasn’t his voice. It was Iam again, Torsten was sure of it. “It’s time for rest, my love. We’ve failed each other for far too long.”
Light burst from the Brike Stone, forcing everyone but Torsten to shield their eyes. His blessed sight allowed him to see through it. Nesilia screamed in protest as her essence was drawn into the stone. Dellbar’s eyeholes dimmed, and he collapsed to his knees.
Sigrid awoke, and in a matter of seconds, she sliced the wianu’s tentacle off. The monster squealed and pulled back, not just to the hole above, but it fled like a frightened calf. The sea monster seemed intelligent, and now it was proven. It retreated before its own master could be fed to it and destroyed.
The other beasts didn’t have the chance. Sigrid zipped around the room like a bolt of lightning, cutting them to ribbons until she stood in the center, panting like a wild animal with bodies falling around her. Her dark eyes darted around, confused, as if piecing together the world for the very first time.
“Siggy,” Rand rasped. He scrambled to his feet and ran to her, holding her at arm’s length. “You’re here, sister. You’re with me.”
Torsten gently rolled Lucindur off him and laid her head down. The exertion had left her unconscious, but she was breathing. Whitney helped hold Sora upright, but Torsten raced past them to Dellbar. The High Priest held the Brike Stone with two hands, and the blood-red stone now glowed brightly enough to paint the entire room that way. Torsten couldn’t perceive color well, but this could not be mistaken.
The stone churned violently. Dellbar could barely keep hold of it, but light funneled through his hands, sapping the color from his cheeks as it did. Killing him, Torsten realized. Nesilia’s whispers filled the air around it, unclear, but laced with temptation. The thought of breaking her free even crossed Torsten’s mind. He couldn’t help it.
“Iam saved what little power in Pantego He had left for this,” Dellbar groaned. “I can hold her, but not for long.”
Torsten glanced up as the last of the wianu’s tentacles receded. “The wianu. We have to get to one. They’re fleeing to the water.”
“Then we catch up to one,” Whitney said, matter-of-factly.
“How?”
“Have some faith,” Whitney said.
“He’s right,” Sora said. “Faith that Mahraveh was able to slow them down.”
“We have to move fast,” Torsten said. At that, an idea popped into his head. He helped Dellbar up, battling the swell of dark thoughts that came just by touching him. He led him toward Rand and his sister. “Sigrid, you’re faster than any of us. Take him to the inlet. End this.”
“No way,” Sora protested. “We can’t trust her. I saw in their minds… they both, wanted this.”
“Do it for Kazimir,” Whitney said. “Finish what he started.”
Rand continued to hold her as her gaze passed across each of them. Her breathing started to slow.
“Sigrid, can you hear them?” Rand asked. “Can you hear me?”
“I can,” she replied. “And I don’t want any of their redemption.”
“Siggy?”
“I’m done fightin.” She seized Rand by the sides, looked straight into Torsten’s face, and then, they were gone in a wisp of dust.
Whitney spun around, searching. “I hate when they do that.”
“We’ll take the priest ourselves,” Sora said. “A horse. Torsten, we need a horse.”
Torsten stared at Sigrid and Rand’s bloody footprints.
“Torsten!”
He forced himself to focus. “The stables, there should still be some. Let’s go.” He placed his hand on the small of Dellbar’s back and guided him along.
“I’ll only slow ye down,” Tum Tum said, still holding his wounded leg. “I’ll stay with Lucy and the brave little wyvern.” Aquira looked up at him with naught but her eyes.
“Scared of another fight?” Whitney asked as he retrieved one of his daggers and spun it on one finger.
“Whitney,” Sora scolded, picking up her shortsword.
“Oh, he knows I’m kidding. That, right there, is the bravest dwarf I’ve ever known.”
“And ye, the most dastardly thief,” Tum Tum said, grinning.
They caught up to Torsten, and together, the same group that went traipsing through the Webbed Woods after Redstar and Bliss led Dellbar across the Throne Room. Soldiers at the castle gates were preparing to barricade it. Never a good sign.
Outside in the court, madness awaited. Uhlvark had his back against the gate, being rammed on the other side by something powerful. The simpleton looked terrified, no idea how strong he was. Archers on the walls fired off. Soldiers defended them against Drav Cra, remaining possessed, and monsters using rooftops in an attempt to leap over the walls. Some made it into the courtyard and rampaged around, but were quickly put down.
Beyond those castle walls, the entire city glowed from fire. Smoke commingled in the sky like a second set of low, dark clouds. To the south, the fortifications were ruptured. The hole looked like it had been caused by something the size of a wianu. Enemy Shesaitju warriors poured through, and Sir Mulliner was there with Sir Hystad leading a ground force in defense. Horses in the nearby stables whinnied and cried.
“There,” Torsten said, pointing. “Go and get him on a horse.”
“What about you?” Whitney asked.
“I’m going to clear us a path.” He grasped Whitney’s arm. “No matter what happens, you are worthy of your name, Whitney Godskiller.” He turned to Sora. “And you, Sora. Whatever you were to Liam, he’d be proud of you today.”
“I hate when you get mushy,” Whitney said, fake-wiping his eyes.
“Go!” Torsten shoved Dellbar at them, and they ran across the chaotic courtyard. As they sprinted, Torsten heard a strange horn ringing, its tenor deep and cavernous like the depths of the earth.
He took off toward the gate first, and all the soldiers defending it.
“Uhlvark!” he shouted. “Uhlvark!”
The giant was too terrified to display his usual glee upon seeing a friend. His full weight held the gates closed, but every time it was rammed, spears stabbed through the opening and cut at him.
“Uhlvark, I need you to abandon the gate, and go with Dellbar again.” Torsten pointed to Whitney and Sora, who were taking far too much time getting Dellbar onto a mount.
“But, protect gaaaaate,” he said, then moaned as the gate lurched, and his thigh was stabbed before he and all the men pushing resealed it.
“You did such a great job,” Torsten commended. “Now, they need you to be a hero.”
“Herooo?”
“The very biggest. Go, Uhlvark. Your friend needs you now more than ever.”
“I will help.”
Soldiers protested as he pushed off and limped across the courtyard. More men flowed to take his place, but it wouldn’t last long with the giant absent.
Torsten didn’t wait to find out. He raced for the stairs, and a Drav Cra vaulted toward him, earning an elbow across his jaw. Stealing the man’s axe to replace Salvation, Torsten kept going. Adrenaline helped him push his legs up the stairs. He ducked under another attack from a Glass soldier that was possessed, then bashed him in the face with the axe-handle.
The horn sounded again. Torsten pushed past an archer, reached the parapet, and leaned over. Nesilia’s horde filled the city, rampaging through buildings, dragging out innocents, slaughtering anyone, and anything. But that’s not where the horn came from.
A new army massed outside the walls of Yarrington. A blade of moonlight pierced the clouds, illuminating a part of them and allowing Torsten to see the sigil of the Three Kingdoms. Brouben was in their lead, his axe raised high as they began their charge.
Drav Cra horns sounded in response. A large portion of Nesilia’s army rushed to the main gates to greet them, drawing soldiers away from the path leading to Dockside. The rest continued assaulting the keep.
“Th
e dwarves stand with us!” Torsten bellowed. “Stand strong, warriors of Iam. The end does not come for us today. Archers, every one of you, focus on the east. Clear a path to the harbor.”
Glassmen all around him cheered. The archers in towers and who weren’t busy brawling all followed his command. Sir Mulliner called for a shield push, and Torsten gripped his new axe tight.
“For Yarrington!”
The Thief
“C’mon, let’s get him up,” Whitney said frantically. It was bad enough that they were in a rush to catch a wianu before Dellbar lost his control over Nesilia, but the clamor of battle raged all around them... It was disorienting.
He and Sora cupped Dellbar’s foot and helped him onto a horse that Sora was somehow able to calm despite the madness.
“Yigging Exile!” Whitney helped, grasping at his hand. He kept forgetting there was a hole through it. For whatever reason, it didn’t hurt as much as it should have until he used it.
“Here, give me that,” Sora said. She took his hand and lowered her head. She looked exhausted. Beautiful, but exhausted. Dark rings circled her eyes, and her own hands trembled as a bluish smoke snaked out from them, filling in Whitney’s wound. The skin started to stitch itself over, and Sora would have fallen if Whitney hadn’t supported her in return. She’d never used her power so much in so short a time.
“Sora,” Whitney said. She didn’t answer. His hand stopped healing, but she remained hunched over it, wheezing. “Sora,” he repeated, this time rubbing her cheek with his thumb. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She exhaled.
“You’re not. Hey, look at me.” He lifted her chin and tried to get her to make eye-contact, but her amber-hued beauties refused to focus. “Sora, I can handle this.”
“Just get on the horse.”
“Sora, please.”
“We’re ending this!” she yelled, throwing her arms down. A gust of wind that was in no way natural heaved Whitney up, leaving him no choice but to grasp for the mane of the—once again—terrified horse. Sora jumped up after him, sandwiching Dellbar between them.
Whitney felt the Brike Stone against his back, saw all the myriad ways they could fail and die. He even thought he heard Nesilia whispering promises like how she’d “give him everything he’d ever wanted.” How she’d “make him a king.” And the stone itself made him both hot and cold at the same time, confusing his body in ways that made no sense.
“Cut it free!” Sora shouted.
Whitney could hardly hear her over the sudden bellow of horns along with shouting from both armies. He fumbled for his dagger, then slashed the rope hitching the horse. It bucked hard, nearly throwing him off, but he clenched tight and leaned to its ear.
“You’re okay, girl,” he whispered. “You’re okay.” The horse neighed and thrashed, knocking over a bucket of feed as it rumbled out into the courtyard. A goblin charging them earned the wrong end of the horse’s hooves.
“Shh,” Whitney hushed, stroking its mane. “You get to help us save the world.”
“When you are calm, so too will it be,” Dellbar whispered. His voice was tinged with Nesilia’s, and he groaned after speaking.
Whitney closed his eyes and focused on what he desired more than anything: an end to the fighting and adventuring. On that note, he understood why that devil, Sigrid, fled instead of helping them. Against all odds, he wished for the peaceful life of Troborough’s farms and rolling hills, owning a little house with Sora, maybe a tavern. Perhaps they could raise a kid together and watch out for it like neither Whitney or Sora’s parents had ever done.
Even the Brike Stone couldn’t taint the vision. It had been Exile for Whitney in Elsewhere, and now it was the life he craved, that simple existence he’d fled for so long.
He exhaled and re-opened his eyes.
Now that the horse was steady, Sora shouted at him to get moving.
“Hold your horses!” he joked, then gave the thing a kick, and it bounded toward the break in the wall. He guided it to where Sir Mulliner was barking orders at the rear of a line of soldiers holding back invaders.
“Sir Mulligan, right?” he called.
The Shieldsman looked up through messy, bloody hair. “It’s Mulli—doesn’t matter. We can’t hold them off without every sword. Get down here and start fighting, thief!”
Whitney ignored the insult. There wasn’t time to put the rigid Shieldsman in his place. “The priest has Nesilia,” he said. The Shieldsman gave him a questioning look that Whitney ignored. “We have to get to the wianu quickly.”
“They fell back toward the harbor.”
“We know that!” Sora snapped in a completely uncharacteristic moment that Whitney appreciated far too much. She was finally starting to realize his eternal struggle with dolts.
“We need to get to them.”
“Then you’ll have to fight through an army.” Mulliner turned back to his men and hollered more orders about guarding flanks.
Another series of horns blasted. These a bit different.
“The dwarves stand with us!” Torsten screamed, now atop the walls, with an axe raised high. “Stand strong, warriors of Iam. The end does not come for us today.”
“Where in Elsewhere did he get an axe?” Whitney asked.
“The dwarves fight with us!” a soldier yelled.
“Reinforcements!” cheered a few more.
Some of the Drav Cra pushing back Mulliner’s troops peeled away, allowing their shield wall to hold steady.
Whitney glanced back at Sora. “Brouben?”
She nodded. “Has to be.”
“Ha! Dwarves… Always late to the party.”
“Sir Unger’s letters must’ve gotten through to King Cragrock!” The Shieldsman exclaimed. “The dwarves stand with us.”
“No, sir,” Whitney said. “Those little buggers are here because of us. Now, if you don’t mind, we need to reach the water, or all of this is a great big waste.”
“I am helpiiiing friend!” Came the boisterous drawl of what could only be a giant. One rumbled toward them, not even giving a chance for the Glassmen to move. It simply knocked them aside and bowled through the Drav Cra on the other side. A dire wolf jumped and clamped onto his back, its claws drawing long, red lines. Torsten came sliding down the fallen portion of the wall and cleaved it, stem to stern.
“Are you coming or not?” he shouted.
Whitney didn’t wait for Sir Mulliner to issue the order. He yelled, “Charge,” and the entire company obeyed. Sir Mulliner echoed the same, as if his pride was wounded, but the effect was the same.
Bolstered by the giant’s rampage and the arrival of reinforcements, the men rushed into battle. Whitney took another look back at Sora and Dellbar. The latter was hunched over, barely able to keep his eyes open, hands quaking over the stone.
Whitney gave the horse a kick and joined the push. The giant slammed a group of Drav Cra through a building. A possessed cultist hacked at his leg, knocking him to one knee. Turning, he roared and bit the man’s head off.
“Blech,” Whitney said.
Torsten bulled through a savage, then another. The giant flung the decapitated body down the street, and it hit a dire wolf with its terrifying gaze set upon Whitney and crew.
Whitney urged the horse faster. They bolted ahead of the charge, barreling through bodies, but there seemed to be an endless stream of enemies down the street.
“Whitney, duck!” Sora yelled.
He knew from experience that it was best to just listen to her. He lowered his head, pulling Dellbar with him, and Sora unleashed a wave of fire to clear their way.
It’s Bridleton all over again, Whitney thought.
He kept the horse to the edges of the street as they pierced through like a fiery spear, Sora incinerating anyone and anything in their way.
They broke through a line of stalls in the South Corner market. Here, the battle was the same, but the players were different. Gray men scurried around like ants, stabb
ing and slashing at one another. It was nearly impossible to tell who belonged to which army. Zhulong tore through the streets, and Whitney did everything in his power to keep out of their way.
Finally, he decided to turn hard onto the main road leading to the harbor, the horse barely stayed on its hooves. Now, it was a full-out Shesaitju war waging all around them. Burning buildings. Barbed arrows zipping this way and that. A mounted zhulong charged at them from the side, and Whitney pulled mane to turn the other way.
Before it pummeled them, the giant’s feet slammed down in the path. It grabbed the tusks and pushed, lifting the zhulong backward and causing the rider to topple off. Torsten buried an axe in his chest.
As the giant struggled with the beast, arrows stabbed into his chest. Another mounted zhulong rammed into his hip.
Sora grunted, and a spear of ice lanced from her hands, knocking the zhulong away. But it was too late. The giant lost balance and stumbled through one of Dockside’s burning shanties, then kept falling, down the ridge, destroying everything in his path.
Whitney whipped the horse onto Port Street and peered through the debris. Massive, shadowy beings plunged into the inlet all the way across to lower Dockside.
“Whitney, I…”
He looked back and saw Sora slowly slipping off the horse from exhaustion. He did all he could. Holding Dellbar, so she didn’t drag him off with her.
“Sora!” he shrieked.
“I’ve got her!” Torsten said. Before Sora hit the street, he caught her over the shoulder, spinning to cut down an attacker. Another charged at his back, but a sword jabbed through the man’s head and killed him instantly.
“Sir Unger, we’re barely holding them!” Lord Jolly said, wielding his weapon with his one hand and surrounded by a host of Shieldsmen guards.
“Keep it up!” Torsten said.
Whitney looked behind. Sir Mulliner’s charge had been slowed. A demon spirit engulfed Mulliner, preparing to take control. He stabbed himself through the side instead, causing the being to chose another body, then ran at a cultist and head-butted through its mask. Around him, his men gave every ounce of life they had to keep pushing, to keep drawing enemies to themselves and away from Whitney and Dellbar.
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