Eldritch Assassin

by Adam Witcher

  Once he’d turned the ghoul into a writhing pile of flesh and bones, he faced the rest of the scene. Aerin was on the defensive. Apparently out of magic, all she could do was run from the ghouls in terror and try to stay out of their reach. The witch found this hilarious. She only stopped laughing to grimace at Isaac, annoyed that he’d dispatched one of her minions. After a moment, her expression turned to worry. Before he could consider this further, he was forced back into combat. Three more ghouls approached quickly.

  He stood up, emboldened by the power of his dagger. Though it was three against one, he had speed and intelligence on his side.

  He rushed the first ghoul, jerked backward when it was able to strike. Easily dodging the blow, he lunged afterword and went for its neck. The dagger severed it in one clean strike. He barely even felt resistance. The decapitated ghoul fell to the ground, defeated.

  The witch, apparently noticing Isaac’s upper hand, angrily muttered something in a foreign tongue. Every ghoul present, and there were perhaps twenty or more, turned to him and started advancing.

  Shit.

  He did his best to keep from being surrounded, but there were too many to keep track of. He hacked off limbs and heads, cut into rotting flesh, dodged blows, but they just kept coming. An axe sliced into Isaac’s side and he nearly dropped his dagger. Another cut his cheek open. Trying not to lose hope, he just kept fighting. No matter how many he dropped, their numbers never seemed to dwindle.

  Somewhere beyond the fray of battle, Aerin cried out his name. He saw a blur of movement. Aerin rushed the witch, but her scream of frustration told him that she was unsuccessful. When he managed to see her again, she was frozen before the witch, apparently bound by some invisible force.

  Isaac began to lose his nerve, but he kept on fighting, trying not to think about his odds. More axes grazed his skin. More ghouls fell. He wouldn’t stop fighting until he couldn’t go on.

  Suddenly, a loud grunt sounded through the trees—a voice he didn’t recognize—and a spray of flesh and bones exploded in front of him.

  The ghouls turned to a new attacker, and Isaac managed to make out her form.

  A young woman with shoulder-length, bright red hair held a massive warhammer. Her teeth were gritted in determination. She wore light steel armor, but there wasn’t much to it, just enough to cover her torso, arms, and ankles. Beneath that, ordinary black pants. She looked toned and muscular, but not nearly enough to justify or explain her choice of weapon. The hammer looked too heavy to lift.

  Yet she used it effortlessly. Swinging it in circles, she recklessly crashed through trees and ghouls alike, destroying everything in her path.

  The witch screamed and cast another spell. More ghoul hands stuck out from the soil.

  Isaac, exhausted and covered in cuts and abrasions, could only watch, hypnotized at the strange display from this newcomer. The patterns on her armor matched those of her opponents and—Isaac realized—the armor of the five sacrificed bodies they’d seen earlier.

  The woman, upon seeing more ghouls being raised, turned her attention to the witch. She charged her, letting out a cry that sent shivers through Isaac. The witch stepped backward and recoiled, her eyes wide.

  “No!” the witch cried.

  She was going to kill her. But if the witch died, how could she help them? He shook the stupid thought from his head. The witch wasn’t interested in helping anyone.

  The witch cast another spell, a bright light that shot directly into the young woman, but it didn’t faze her, and she kept charging.

  The woman lifted her hammer over the top of her head and smashed it down on the witch’s skull. Blood and bone exploded from the witch’s neck and sprayed in different directions. Immediately, the ghouls fell where they stood, and a gore-soaked silence returned to the forest.

  10

  “Don’t move,” the woman said. “Either of you.”

  That was fine by Isaac. He was so covered in cuts that every movement was painful. Though her invisible binds had dissolved at the witch’s death, Aerin remained still as well.

  “Who are you?” The newcomer looked back and forth between them, apparently deciding who to listen to. She landed on Aerin.

  “I am Aerin, daughter of mayor Hector of Avalour. This is Isaac. We came to confront the witch.”

  “A fine job you seemed to be doing,” she smirked. “Why are a human and an elf working together?”

  Isaac and Aerin shared a look. Isaac shrugged. No reason to hide the truth. Any enemy of this witch was a potential ally. And she had saved their lives.

  Aerin told her the story as best she could, her voice becoming more confident as the danger retreated further into the past. She told her of the opening portals, about her father and the state of Avalour now. About Saldana’s dagger and its special abilities. At that, she strode over to Isaac and examined the dagger.

  “You really went there?” she asked him. “To Tenebromar?”

  “Tenebromar?” Isaac was becoming woozy with blood loss.

  “Scorpius’s realm,” she replied, turning the dagger over in her hands. “The sea of darkness.”

  “A fitting name,” Isaac admitted, his voice slurring. “Though I don’t remember any seas there. What do you know about it?”

  “What are you, drunk?” she asked.

  “I wish.”

  “He’s bleeding to death!” Aerin said.

  The woman examined Isaac’s wounds, unimpressed.

  “That’s it?” she sighed. “Let me see what this witch has in her garden.”

  She approached the strange herbs and plants and picked a few pieces. Without saying anything, she pushed the witch’s door open and went inside. She returned a few minutes later with a mortar and pestle, crushing up some concoction while she approached Isaac. Kneeling, she spread an earthy, brown paste across his skin where it was damaged. It stung for a moment, but the pain then faded quickly. When she wiped the paste from his skin, it was healed.

  “Gods, how did you do that?” Isaac asked. Aerin knelt at his side, her eyes wide.

  “Are you a cleric?” Aerin asked.

  “Not even close,” she replied. “Just dabble in alchemy. Comes in handy sometimes.” She looked back and forth between them for a moment, making a final assessment. “The name’s Rhotha, by the way.”

  Rhotha. It was a fitting name. Though gorgeous, the woman had a brusqueness uncommon to the women—in particular, the elves—Isaac had known. In fact, it reminded him of something he couldn’t place right away. Perhaps something from a song his parents use to sing. Suddenly, it came to him.

  “That’s a barbarian’s name,” Isaac said.

  “Yeah,” Rhotha said. “And how does that make you feel?”

  It took him a moment to understand what she meant, the attitude she suspected they might have toward a barbarian.

  “Alive,” Isaac replied.

  Rhotha burst into laughter. “Good answer.”

  “A barbarian,” Aerin said slowly. Still an elf from high society, she’d likely been told her entire life what mindless brutes barbarians were. But the awe in her expression told Isaac that the bias was being challenged.

  “A barbarian alchemist. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “There’s a great big world outside your elf city,” Rhotha said. “Just because we live off the land doesn’t make us savages.”

  Isaac remembered the enormous warhammer lying to their side.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but how do you swing that thing?”

  Rhotha’s expression went sour.

  “What, you think I can’t swing a weapon? Why, cause I’m just some tiny, helpless woman?”

  “No, I don’t even think I could swing that thing.”

  “And that makes you feel like less of a man? Did I emasculate you by saving your life with this thing?”

  “I…” Isaac stuttered. “I just…”

  Rhotha cut him off with another raucous round of laughter.
>
  “I’m just fucking with you, man.” She slapped a hand to Isaac’s back. “Obviously I can’t swing this thing on my own. It’s like four hundred pounds. Nobody can. I’ve got an enchantment on me. Enhanced strength and armor. Should last a couple more hours.”

  Isaac breathed a sigh of relief, then laughed too.

  “Wait,” Aerin said. “You’re an enchanter too?”

  “You could say that,” Rhotha said. “I do a little of this, little of that. If I’m being honest, though, I’m what you might call the runt of the litter in my horde. Had the choice of either learning to enchant my body or be a weakling forever. Nobody took me seriously, but I guess they will now that Truella is dead.”

  “Thanks for that, by the way.” Isaac said.

  “I’d love to take credit,” Rhotha said. “But I think you two had something to do with it. I was expecting to die today.”

  Rhotha looked to the fallen ghouls scattered about and grimaced.

  “These were my people,” she said. “We’ve been at war with Truella for years. Dozens of us have been sacrificed to Scorpius or someone like him. Others have become her… playthings.”

  “Why did you expect to die?” Isaac asked. “You kicked ass. I took out a few, but you’re the one who crushed her head with a warhammer.”

  Rhotha resumed her examination of the dagger. “Let me guess, this sliced through those ghouls like butter, didn’t it?”

  “Actually, yeah.”

  “Figures. Saldana’s enchantment must make this thing extra powerful against the undead.”

  She handed it back to Isaac, and he stashed it away.

  “Good to know, but I was still about to get overwhelmed. You still killed her.”

  “But you weakened her.” Much to Isaac’s surprise, Aerin chimed in. “It’s in the book. The undead are extensions of a necromancer. By using the enchantment, you were lessening her defenses. It’s a light magic enchantment, so it works even without current magic infusion.”

  “Ah, so it was both of us. Teamwork and all that. Fine by me.”

  “Rhotha,” Aerin said. “Can you re-enchant this dagger?”

  Rhotha contemplated it, pacing back and forth for a moment.

  “I’ve never done dark magic enchantments before, but I might be able to figure it out. At the very least, I can ask Tonya. She’s one of our elders. Taught me what I know about alchemy and enchantments.”

  “Okay,” Isaac said. “I’m confused. This dagger has both a light and dark magic enchantment? How is that possible?”

  “Isaac, you really must finish reading that book,” Aerin scoffed.

  “Summarize it for me?”

  “A light and a dark enchantment can be applied to the same item. They play opposite and complementary roles. This dark magic infusion must open portals and absorb souls to recharge. The light magic enchantment most likely makes it especially effective against opponents summoned by or powered by dark magic.”

  Isaac nodded in mock understanding.

  “If you know so much about enchanting,” Rhotha said. “Why do you need my help?”

  “I just know it’s possible,” Aerin said. “No clue how.”

  Rhotha nodded. “You both can join me in my village tonight, if you like. The horde will be skeptical at first, but they will accept you when they find out that Truella is dead. First, let’s see what this witch was hiding. You two check inside the cabin. I’ll pull her alchemy ingredients from the garden.

  Isaac and Aerin entered the shack, half convinced a trap would be waiting for them, but that wasn’t the case. It was simple inside, little more than a bed, a cauldron, a table, and a chest. They found a few gold pieces in the chest. The cauldron boiled violently. Isaac peered into it. A few alchemical ingredients and a note lay beside it. Isaac picked up the note and read it: Scorpius, I beseech thee. I can help you with your new transitional methods. Please allow my assistance.

  Rhotha walked in, a shovel in hand, and Isaac handed her the note.

  “Let me guess,” she said. “The witch was outside gathering ingredients when you got here.”

  Isaac nodded.

  “Looks like she was about to message him. Glad we interrupted. What’s this about a new method? Is that what you said Saldana was talking about?”

  “I assume so,” Aerin said. “But we still have no idea what it is.”

  Rhotha grunted and headed back outside. The barbarian had already harvested the ingredients. She started digging.

  “Go see if there are more shovels in the back,” she said. “I’m not leaving until we bury my people.”

  To their surprise, they did find two more shovels. For the next hour, they carefully put the formerly undead barbarians to a permanent rest. When they were done, Rhotha said a silent prayer and led them away.

  After the burial, they left the Greatwood to get Moonlight and the other horse. They trotted along the perimeter of the forest for several hours before spotting Rhotha’s village. Isaac sat in the middle of the new horse’s back, Rhotha behind him. Aerin rode Moonlight.

  Daylight waned, and the encampment appeared as a silhouette on the golden horizon. Perhaps fifty buildings crowded a wide-open field, all of them made from wood, straw, and clay. Simple farms made up the outskirts of the town, some occupied by sheep and cows, others by rows of corn and wheat.

  No residents noticed them at first. The silhouettes were all occupied by the end of their daily activities. Some shoveled dirt through the farms, others pushed carts through dusty roads. Even from a distance, the scent of roasted meat wafted through the air and made Isaac’s mouth water. His stomach rumbled for hot food, anything other than the dried rations in his pack.

  As they approached, several people stopped what they were doing and watched. A few raised arms, pointed, spoke excitedly to one another. When they were close enough to make out the voices, a booming tone soared through the din to reach them.

  “Is that you, Rhotha?” A man, barrel chested and heavily bearded, stepped from the outskirts of the town to greet them. Animal pelts were wrapped around his body. His eyes were spread wide, watering and locked on Rhotha.

  “It’s me, father.”

  She dismounted Moonlight and embraced the huge man. He scooped her into his arms and squeezed tightly.

  “You’re alive. How? Truella?”

  “Dead,” she replied. “I smashed her head in with my warhammer.”

  He let her down.

  “That’s my girl!” He tousled her hair. “And who is this?”

  “Dad.” She turned. “This is Isaac and Aerin. They helped me. We... have a lot to tell you.”

  The man approached Moonlight so confidently that the horse stepped back in surprise. He reached a hulking, hairy hand out to Isaac, who shook it vigorously. Aerin hesitantly held her hand out afterward, but the man paid no mind to her timidity and shook it all the same.

  “The name’s Benthum,” he said. “Welcome to Barbaros!”

  Without awaiting a response, he turned and cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “My people!” he bellowed. “Truella is dead!”

  The barbarians stopped anything they were doing and thrust fists to the sky. They cried together, a triumphant sound that likely could be heard for miles.

  Benthum turned back to Isaac and Aerin. His arm was tucked around Rhotha, who looked vaguely uncomfortable with the affection.

  “You’ll join us tonight for a feast,” he said, not noticing Rhotha’s reaction. “And you’ll be our honored guests!”

  He didn’t wait for a response. A dozen other barbarians joined him as Isaac and Aerin dismounted the horses, who neighed anxiously at the surrounding people. Hands clasped around Isaac’s shoulder and led him onward toward the center of the village, the air alive with whoops and hollers and cheers.

  “You actually set foot in Tenebromar and returned to tell the tale?” Benthum’s words were garbled by a mouthful of lamb.

  Isaac, buzzed by three pints of ale and a pil
e of exquisitely smoked meat, took a moment before answering. He, Benthum, Aerin, Rhotha, and a dozen or so other barbarians sat around a roaring bonfire several minutes later, plates of discarded bones and corn cobs strewn about.

  The barbarians had sat and listened closely while Isaac and Aerin relayed their tale. Their rowdiness simmered as they clung to every word. Rhotha didn’t say much, just let Isaac and Aerin do the talking. Despite the heat, her arms were folded, her expression a grimace. The other barbarians took no apparent notice of this.

  Each of the present barbarians were introduced, but Isaac already couldn’t remember any names beyond two—Gregoroth, Rhotha’s brother, a short but thick man with a long beard but no hair on his head, and Tonya, an old, calm woman, who sat unspeaking across the fire. He remembered her as the enchantress and made a note to speak with her later.

  Despite the warm welcome, the mention of Tenebromar put a slight chill through him.

  “Unfortunately so,” he said. He recounted his horrific encounter with Scorpius, and they listened in rapture. When he was through, no one spoke for a time.

  “Then you’re marked, aren’t you?” Gregoroth said suddenly. The others turned to him. “What? I’m not wrong. He’s tainted by dark magic. We’ll be cursed thanks to him.”

  “Oh, drop the nonsense, son,” Benthum said. “Truella was a curse on our people. This man and his dagger cleansed the land of that horrid witch.”

  “Well,” Isaac took another sip of ale. “I can’t exactly take the credit. Like I said before, Rhotha did the dirty work. Aerin and I would be another couple of ghouls if not for her.”

  The barbarians didn’t react to that, but instead erupted in their own arguments. Rhotha rested her chin on a hand and stared blankly into the fire. Isaac was beginning to see why she wasn’t all that excited to return home. After a few minutes, Benthum silenced the group.