“Not yet.”
Mallum turned on Denan, and for a moment, he hesitated. “Nothing here can be undone. Is there no point in attempting a peaceful resolution?”
“Peace? No peace,” snarled Denan, and only then did Eralorien see the fatigue in Denan’s face, as though Cherrie herself had drained all his vigour.
Without warning, Mallum released a volley of fireballs upon Denan, who met each with a confident strike of his blade as though playing a game from another world. Eralorien had never seen such a thing in his life, and neither had Mallum, who cursed and retreated from the charging Venistrian.
“Come die at my blade, cur!” Denan roared magnificently.
“Nice sword. You could slay a demon with that,” the monster hissed bitterly and skulked away from the charging Denan.
Be they king, lord, pauper or weaving brute, when the Hounds fell upon someone, it did not matter how many swords they called upon, nor how much weaving they controlled. The Hounds always found a way. Mallum must have known this, for his confidence appeared to shatter. He appeared as though fighting Denan was the last thing in this world he desired. For a moment, he looked less the maniacal dark weaver of deathly demonic enchantments and more a terrified young man facing his death after murdering one of their own.
For a breath of time.
Mallum gestured as he had with Cherrie, but Denan crashed through his invisible assault as though it were little more than a thin veneer of a spider web. Only reflex stopped Mallum’s head from being decapitated and ending the matter there. He spun beneath the slash and threw himself backwards over a table before rolling away.
Denan followed, swinging wildly and knocking tables and chairs to splinters. As he did, he appeared to recover his fatigue with each breath while Mallum slithered like a snake and avoided the strikes by his skin and teeth. Though smaller in stature than Heygar, in that moment, Denan was just as imposing. Eralorien cursed, seeing Cherrie rouse herself and look upon her man bringing the fight to their prey. Mallum countered with fire, but all met an end beneath Denan’s swinging blade.
Spinning away gracefully, Mallum earned a reprieve to beg for mercy. “I would have offered you all a hundred gold apiece just to sit and speak with me, but I could see the madness in your eyes, Denan of the Green,” Mallum called. He slipped out of reach of Denan’s blade and manoeuvred himself back towards the main door.
“We would never accept peace with you, monster,” Denan growled.
Eralorien agreed despite himself. There was deceit in the man and a silver tongue to him. Precarious things.
“Denan should have killed him by now,” the little voice pointed out, and Eralorien also agreed with this.
“You couldn’t accept my word. There is a lured madness upon you all that you cannot see, the lure torments you all, it rips souls away,” Mallum roared bitterly. “You fools!”
With Denan close enough to strike, Mallum attacked one last time. He brought a fire fiercer than the fire Iaculous had used. Eralorien felt the burning from across the room, and for a wonderful moment, he thought it might burn Denan to ash. But Denan did not burn to ash. He ducked under a searing trail of fire and slashed the blade down fiercely. Mallum took the strike across the chest and howled like a beast slain. He fell away, leaving a streaming surging river of blood behind.
Whatever enchantment lay in the sword, Mallum could not heal the wound as before. They had him. The mission was at an end. Heygar’s last tale was a wondrous victory in a little tavern in Vahr.
Eralorien felt a surge of energy, then something else. A wave of darkness descended upon them, and he wondered if he had stepped into the source unconsciously. He felt a demon near, so close as it picked with claws at the doorway between this world and the next. He felt its hunger, its salacious desire for things still to come, like a cast lure’s enchantment diminishing away after its conclusion. Renewed fear stirred in him.
Then a recovering Iaculous spotted Arielle. As awful as Cherrie’s laments were, Iaculous’s wails were worse—primal and terrible. They were not human, nor beast, yet somewhere in between. Gripping his head in shaking hands, he wept openly. Eralorien’s failing heart broke for the young weaver despite his better judgement.
Iaculous fell down beside Arielle and took her lifeless body in his shaking arms. He held her to his chest and cradled her, crying her name out, again and again, as though his words could return her soul to her body. For that moment, he was broken, and Eralorien felt his emotions gush out like a shattered dam.
Perhaps Denan sensed his grief for it distracted him, and that was all it took for the dark weaver. He leapt upon the leader of the Hounds, knocking the sword from his grip. He took hold of Denan’s neck in both hands and squeezed. Black smoke erupted from the grasp, and Denan screamed as the weaver burned into him. The pathetic sight of Mallum frantically attempting an escape appeared as nothing but a ruse, for he hoisted Denan upwards with terrific strength, roaring in an unrecognisable tongue as he did.
Only Cherrie reacted. Despite her ruination, she charged at her sister’s killer, leaping upon him, striking with fist and knee. But Mallum, infused with a strange, dark energy, did not release his victim. Instead, he slammed him to the ground, and Denan was helpless to stop him. Cherrie attacked and cursed her inability to damage the brute.
Was Mallum a man at all or a spawn of a demon? The same demon of the source Eralorien felt just an arm’s reach away? Had it come to watch its prodigy tear them apart?
“You could earn Cherrie’s favour,” suggested the little voice in his mind.
Eralorien discovered Denan’s blade in his hand. He had not even noticed himself pick it up.
“Hobble up behind the weaver, and all of this will be over.”
Eralorien gripped the sword handle tightly.
“Perhaps you could wait until he finishes Denan, and Cherrie will be yours.”
Eralorien held his attack for a moment. “Let me think,” he muttered to himself and wondered how long this voice had been his companion. At least a week. Maybe a month. When he thought about it, his head hurt even more.
“Help me, Eralorien!” Cherrie screamed as she ripped hair from Mallum’s head and tried to gouge out his eyes. A lifetime spent in terrible circumstances had gifted her fine skills at defeating a larger opponent without a weapon, but none of these unarmed tactics worked as Mallum strangled the life out of their leader. “Please.”
Mallum’s head snapped back and struck her fiercely across the nose, shattering many bones. Eralorien shook himself from his stupor and charged as swiftly as his old legs would let him. With one divine strike, he pierced Mallum’s belly and plunged until the blade came out the back. Mallum released the struggling Denan, who grasped his neck and tried to breathe amid the acrid, familiar smell of burning skin. Mallum collapsed to his knees beside him. Eralorien pulled the blade free in silent triumph, and Mallum gasped as his breath became a river of crimson.
Can’t heal a Venistrian blade’s strike as easily, can you? Eralorien thought.
Cherrie stumbled towards him. Her face was destroyed. She spat out one of her teeth, and it hit Mallum in the face, along with a thick globule of blood. The spittle and blood slithered down his face, taking the tooth with it, but Mallum did not notice. He stared into her eyes as though this was merely an unfortunate turn of events. Bubbles appeared around her nostrils where the cartilage was pulped to paper. Blood matching her hair streamed down into her mouth, covering her perfect luscious lips, and Eralorien desired to drink every drop. She wavered ever so slightly on her feet, but no concussion, shattered face, or obstructed airway could impede her vengeance. She shoved Eralorien away and took hold of his adopted sword.
“Pray for mercy,” she hissed through a broken mouth. The skin gave way as the tip of the sword plunged into his flesh, and Mallum moaned in pain.
“Mercy…” Mallum grabbed her hands and embraced them around her own as she gripped the Venistrian sword. He didn’t stop her. He attempted
to dissuade her anger. An interesting tactic. Eralorien would have imagined the dying weaver would have fought violently to the bitter end.
Cherrie thought little of his pleading and pushed the blade deeper, slower this time. Eralorien couldn’t imagine how it had taken up to this night to find her so appealing, but on the cusp of victory, with her body destroyed and face torn apart, he only wanted to take her to bed. He wanted her to fall for him, and he would pleasure her like none of the thousand men before him.
“Have mercy. I am but a man looking to help my people,” Mallum offered. Eralorien almost believed the sincerity, if it was not for Iaculous’s weeping and their terrible loss.
“Kill him,” Eralorien snarled.
Beside him, Denan gasped on the ground, and Eralorien took pleasure in the man’s demise.
“Have mercy, and we might undo things that have occurred tonight,” Mallum whimpered.
Eralorien knew he deceived. Cherrie thought so too and plunged the blade deep into the cur. A fine, vengeful strike to steal his last breath and end his reign as unlawful leader of Venistra.
But Mallum did not fade and die like any true man, or even a beast. Instead, a powerful wave of fire and energy emerged from him and knocked the Hounds across the room. Cherrie took the brunt of the release and crashed against the far wall in a bloody mess. He threw Denan just as far in the other direction, and he came to rest among the embers in the fireplace.
Iaculous was knocked away from the still body of his love, and as grief took him, he made no effort to save himself, crashing to the ground beneath the stairs.
Eralorien saw all this as he went over the tavern’s counter, which saved most of the blast, if not the fall. He crashed among bottles of ale, sine, and whisky. He was torn to shreds, just like the female he desired most. For what felt like the tenth time that day, Eralorien climbed to his feet and set his gaze upon the lone figure left standing.
“So, these are the Hounds I am to fear so much,” Mallum said. As he spoke, his wounds sealed and his eyes burned with vigour and power. At his chest, the amulet shone brightly, and he took hold of it and held it until the light dimmed away. Where was Heygar now, when they needed him most? In one great bellow, the man would inspire them to one more charge and a likely victory soon after. As it was, Denan, their fearless leader, was in a crumpled heap in the corner. He was most likely dead.
Good riddance.
“You will fear me!” roared Iaculous. The blast had returned his wits and his fury with it.
Eralorien, touched by its presence, felt the beast move deliriously within the source. It watched, and yet, it did more. It was within them, yet it was not. He sensed it closer to this world. He imagined it banging upon a doorway and earning success. He feared for the world itself and the darkness to follow. He tried to hide behind the counter as though concealing himself would somehow make the beast pass him by. It was a foolish notion by a man who long since should have given up this life and earned a bed to die in.
Instead of hiding, Eralorien stood motionless as an infuriated young weaver attempted to meet his lover’s murderer in battle. It was a battle he could not win.
25
Day Four
“I didn’t want this,” Mallum growled, watching the young weaver circling him like prey attempting to turn the table on a vicious predator.
It was no contest, and Eralorien thought his apprentice reckless and heroic. Heartbreak made any man do foolish things.
Iaculous let loose a fireball that matched his rage. His body should have burned to nothing in that moment, but there was no sizzle of skin or stench of burned flesh. Eralorien felt the swelling power flow from his apprentice, which he knew had always been there. The fireball flew, and Mallum caught it as though it were little more than sport. He held the ball for a moment in his fingers as though examining its potency before crushing it so that it fizzled away to nothing.
“You are strong,” Mallum said and flicked his wrist swiftly. He lifted Iaculous a few feet into the air like a wooden puppet in a seasonal fair. With his other hand, he lifted a long oak bench and brought both floating apparitions together with a sickening thud.
Eralorien heard a shrill cry as they impacted, only to see his apprentice fall limp amid blood and broken bones. Everything became clear. Each of them would die upon this misadventure. Perhaps all of them this very night.
“As you wish,” Mallum said to no one, touching the crystal at his chest.
Eralorien almost cried out for Cherrie’s terrible torment, but he remained silent. His opponent was too fearsome. He had tried and failed, so why try again?
“That’s the feeble spirit,” the voice mocked, and Eralorien hissed it to silence. How long had the voice been in his head? At least a year. Ever since he had learned of his health, he believed. He swallowed his cowardice and bested its mocking.
“Why did you take her soul?” he asked Mallum. He hobbled over towards the dark weaver looking as intimidating as a Blue Lillium Flutterbye. He did it for Cherrie. Everything he had ever done was for Cherrie. He wished he had told her long ago.
Mallum did not answer, and why should he? Giving any reason other than the obvious would have been a lie. All souls trapped were colossal stores of energy, but a soul stolen while the body lived was a fathomless well. Killing Arielle was one diabolical act, but trapping her soul while her body still took a breath was evil. She would never know peace. Her torment would be ceaseless. All weavers of the source knew this.
“Do you really want to continue this fight, old man?” Mallum bent down beside the unconscious Iaculous. Eralorien feared he would slit his throat, but instead, he ran his finger down his face. “He really looks like me,” he said, sniffing in disgust.
“Please set the girl’s soul free and let her body die,” Eralorien pleaded.
Mallum suddenly gripped the pendant and all light from it dimmed again. “She wanted to say goodbye to him, but he’s sleeping, and it’s a better thing for us all.” He released the grip. The crystal glimmered and shone brightly like a star in his grasp. “Leaving is a game for fools,” he added softly and left the young apprentice to his sleep.
Then he turned on Eralorien. “In answer to your question, old man, no, I will not release her to die. She is mine now. Do not continue this hunt a moment further. I have shown mercy where none of you could.”
Mallum wrapped his robe tightly and concealed the lost soul of Arielle within. As he did, Eralorien felt a great sadness and realised it was her own.
“Someone has played with your soul, old man. Do not allow yourselves to fall further from the road. If we meet again, all of you will die.”
Despite the fear and ache, Eralorien felt a terrible desire to leap upon him and tear him apart. He had an equal desire to heed the brute’s warning, flee with Cherrie, and know happiness. He made no move regardless.
“You know, I came here tonight with an offer for Heygar myself. I could have used a few dogs like you among my family.”
Eralorien remembered what his old master had once said: “The beast comes bearing fear and gifts. Accept neither.”
Mallum gestured to the doorway and ripped it from its hinges. It flew across the room, crashing against the far wall. It was loud enough to wake the dead but not a few sleeping Hounds.
Outside in the darkness, Eralorien saw a dozen figures dressed in hooded cloaks. All of them carried torches.
“Are you impressed, weaver? They are my acolytes, followers of the Church of Mallum,” he mocked and waved them entry. They did so, and Eralorien tasted their fierce power. “There aren’t many places for people to go in time of hunger, and they flock to me, for I am welcoming. I have fields that bear fruit. I am happy to share.”
The hooded figures flooded into the tavern in silence as though he commanded their minds. They were fine little foot soldiers. The brute was building an army of weavers all for himself. It was no surprise the king was so wary.
Eralorien cursed Lemier, Denan, and, mos
t of all, Heygar for damning them all by taking a foolish mission. He cursed himself, for he had been ready to leave their services that last night in Dellerin, but instead, Heygar had swayed his better judgement with a few smooth words. He should have insisted his apprentice was up to the task without him.
“You know, this is Bereziel’s doing,” the voice in his head said. Eralorien knew it was the truth. Bereziel had lured them to this place. He was an old Hound embittered by time and lost love, no doubt.
“Take the body of the girl,” Mallum ordered, and two acolytes leapt to task. Lifting her carefully, they swept her from the room through the parting crowd. Arielle was gone, carried off to her new owners. Eralorien wondered if she would know what salacious use Mallum’s weavers would have of her. Would she sense each man atop her from her prison, or would the torment of her holding consume all her thoughts?
“Let me take Cherrie, and we will be done with you, Mallum,” Eralorien pleaded.
The weaver raised an eyebrow and smiled curiously. “You suddenly have no wish to slay me anymore?”
“I do not,” Eralorien lied and eyed the unconscious Cherrie.
Do it for Cherrie, he told himself.
“And tell me this, healer. Will you leave your apprentice and your leader to their doom?”
“I will leave them where they lie sleeping.”
“Do you not think such a thing is dishonourable?”
“Love is no dishonour.”
“Interesting,” Mallum said, sniffing the air as a fox would in search of the scent. “You would forsake your comrades easily enough and ignore the call of a lure. Love is a potent flavour. Perhaps some unbreakable things might shatter?”
A lure?
“It's nothing,” the voice insisted, and his inner friend sounded so convincing.
“Follow that desire. May you find happiness with the girl. Perhaps I might even offer you a gift.”
The amulet blazed brightly from beneath Mallum’s cloak, and a surge of weaving energies formed around the dark weaver. Each of the surrounding acolytes hummed, and they, too, wove enchantments. Eralorien’s head spun.
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