by Isaac Hooke
Wendolin nodded. “The Balor comes for you.”
“Oh, not for me,” Malem said. “For you.”
Her lips set in a bleak line.
“He wants you,” Malem said. “More than he wants anything in this world. You are to be his bride.”
“What a horrible thought,” Wendolin said.
“Yes,” Malem said, feigning sympathy. “I don’t want to even imagine what he’ll do to you. He’ll burn this forest to the ground so that he can find these hidden entrances of yours.”
Something I should have done.
Actually, he had intended to do just that, but then her elves had attacked.
“He can certainly try,” Wendolin said. “Tomorrow, when he attacks, I will release you. You will go to him. I don’t care what you tell me, but you will give him this.”
She held out a bright, opalescent sphere.
“What is it?” he asked, accepting the sphere, which was like an oversized pearl, the size of a human head.
“It will cause him great damage,” she answered cryptically.
Malem shrugged. “I can do that. But why not let me and my party go now then? I can deliver it early.”
“I want to strike when he is at his weakest,” she replied. “Tomorrow, when he comes, he will strain his resources by attacking in the flesh. You will go to him before he can retreat to that nether world of his to recuperate.”
“For someone who claims to be neutral,” he said. “You certainly know a lot about the demon’s habits.”
“Let’s just say, I have my spies among Vorgon’s army,” she said. “Just as the human kings of your realm do, I’m sure.”
Malem nodded. Night elves and dwarves were just as corruptible as ordinary men. Hell, even oraks could be turned, if you offered them the right price, such as an entire inhabited village to do with as they pleased.
“Any questions?” she asked.
“I just give it to him, in his hand?” Malem said.
“That’s right,” she said.
“Sounds easy enough,” he said.
“Good,” Wendolin stood. “You should know, the men and women you have Broken will be staying with me when you venture forth to deliver that to Vorgon. If you fail to give him the item, I will kill all of them. Is that clear?”
He stared at the silver pearl. He had no intention of delivering it to Vorgon, of course.
“Perfectly,” he told her.
With that, she dismissed him. Two elven mages came to escort him back to his quarters.
As he walked through the wooden halls, and into the marble portion of the tree-tower, he thought of everything that had transpired.
Vorgon would be arriving tomorrow. That meant Malem had to act tonight no matter what. Somehow he had to Break Wendolin.
He wouldn’t disappoint his master. He would march out of the Dothweald before Vorgon could burn it down. He would emerge with the queen at his side, and her army following obediently behind her, and they would kneel before the Balor. Vorgon’s black host would bow before Malem as he was restored to his position of lead Black Sword.
He reached his quarters and placed the silver pearl she had given him inside a backpack for safekeeping. He stared at the spherical bulge it made in the sack, and wondered if there was a way to turn the pearl against Wendolin in some way.
Maybe I’ll bring it with me tonight.
He fingered the collar at his neck, and it tightened. He retracted his hand as if stung. Once again he resisted the urge to touch the foreign energy bundle he had only recently discovered inside his head.
Tonight.
19
Xaxia crept through the abandoned city that the dwarf had led her to. She had hitched Vesuvius outside the broken city walls. The horse’s hooves would be too loud on the cobblestone, giving the party away long before they reached their target.
The half moon shone brightly overhead, providing ample illumination to navigate by. And ample shadows. She, Timlir and Goldenthall kept to the latter, staying close to the walls of the damaged buildings.
The city, known as Barbararus, resided on the western seashore. Before it had fallen, it had been home to one of the most active ports in the region, with traders coming in from across the coast. But Vorgon had devastated the city, driving out most of the residents, and slaying those who had stayed behind. It was the perfect place for deserters from the Balor’s army to take up residence.
Vorgon didn’t always raze the conquered cities to the ground. He would sometimes accept surrender from those with sizable armies, leaving the city untouched when he marched on. Of course, the city would be left defenseless because the Balor would conscript the entire army so that when the monsters that roamed in Vorgon’s wake reached the walls, the kings, queens and mayors who had surrendered would realize their mistakes too late.
Night elves usually slept during the day, and were active at night. However, these particular elves left patrols active during the day, making it hard to approach the keep. She’d chosen to attack at night, because not even night elves could see into the darkest shadows. With luck, most of the night elves would be away when she arrived, exploring the Black Realm via the portal they’d opened with the Dark Eye. She’d slay the mage responsible for holding the portal open, trapping all the night elves on the other side, and then skedaddle.
On the way here, the plains had been overrun with goblings who had left the Midweald forest. She was able to flee from most encounters, however sometimes Vesuvius was too weary, and she had been forced to engage in a few minor skirmishes. She hadn’t faced any mages, so that was a relief. But she doubted things were going to be so easy once she reached the keep: the night elves were inherently a magical people.
Ahead, the southern wall of the keep loomed, eating up the sky. She continued forward, keeping Biter in its sheath. As soon as the fighting began, and the Drainer began to feast upon the stamina of her enemies, the blade would begin to glow, acting as a beacon that would draw the other night elves to her. That was one of the downsides of wielding a magic weapon of that particular bent. But she’d work with it. She always had. She had other weapons on her person she could use, if necessary.
Still, she was reluctant to utilize the latter blades. She was nothing without Biter. The sword made her faster, stronger, more resilient. With it, she could defeat foes who had twice or triple her strength. The stamina it gave her from the fallen allowed her to fight forever, never flagging. Well, okay, that was only true against oraks, Biter’s favorite food, but usually the sword still imparted at least a small amount of stamina regardless of the enemy type. It wouldn’t be a Drainer, otherwise.
The buildings here were in even worse condition than those on the outskirts of the city, with some of them collapsed entirely, their bricks fanning out across the streets. She had to crawl over a few of the wreckages, passing over the remnants of people’s homes, and the personal belongings and heirlooms that had been laid bare.
Goldenthall tripped on an exposed nightstand intermixed in the rubble, crashing into her.
“Oof!” She spun on the man, but he was already picking himself off of her.
“Sorry,” Goldenthall said quietly.
She had given him one of her spare swords for the coming battle. He had actually proven himself to have some prowess with the blade, having fought well against the goblings on the plains. Still, that didn’t mean she was quite ready to trust him with her life.
But that’s what I’m essentially doing by bringing him along, isn’t it?
She had considered leaving him and the dwarf behind. As an assassin and thief, she had found herself outnumbered many times in the past, especially after acquiring her target, and she had always escaped with her life. Then again, all of those situations had involved ordinary men, and sometimes oraks, but not night elves equipped with dark magic. Night elves who would be immune to her charms.
She smiled. Men were so easy to defeat; most never fought very hard against a beautiful woman.
It went against their nature. Night elves, however, wouldn’t give a damn how she looked.
Yes, she felt better for having the pair along. If only to give the night elves something else to shoot their dark magic at.
She pulled herself off the rubble and onto the street beyond, hugging the building walls.
As she neared the keep, she spotted a figure on patrol upon the parapet of its outer wall. She halted in the shadows of the nearest building, and waited until the figure moved on before continuing.
In short order, she reached the base of the keep. She couldn’t see a thing along the base of the wall, which was pitch black—the upper portion blotted out the moon.
Timlir took the lead, heading toward the sally port he’d discovered when he was taken prisoner. As a mountain dwarf, he had night vision to rival that of the elves. She had instructed him to turn back if he spotted any guards near the sally port.
She felt along the wall with the fingertips of one hand, using it as a reference point in the dark. All of a sudden she heard two sickly squishes ahead—it sounded like a butcher’s blade chopping through meat. Or a dwarf’s ax. The noise was followed by two heavy thuds as objects dropped to the cobblestone: the upper bodies of two figures protruded from the triangle of shadow next to the wall. Those figures were promptly dragged from view, back into the murk next to the wall.
“There were a couple of guards,” Timlir’s voice came softly from just ahead.
“I told you to turn back!” she hissed.
“Why turn back, when I could handle them?” Timlir said. “They weren’t mages. Just a few night elves with piss poor vision. Come on then, let’s get this done.”
She continued forward, nearly tripping on the bodies she couldn’t see.
“Watch the bodies,” she said over her shoulder. Amazingly, Goldenthall didn’t trip.
She was still trailing her left fingers along the wall when the stone abruptly slid away and her hand passed over empty air. She heard muffled footsteps coming from within, and realized this was the sally port. Timlir had already gone inside.
“Going in,” she told Goldenthall behind her.
She stepped through the opening and continued forward. She extended both arms this time, and felt the cold stone beneath her fingertips on either side.
She moved quietly, enough to hear the padded footfalls of the dwarf ahead, and the man behind. But otherwise, she still saw nothing. She was starting to wish she were a half monster.
This is ridiculous.
The walls on either side fell away, and she promptly stepped into Timlir. She suppressed a curse, and a second one when Goldenthall plowed into her from behind. At least the former king had the good sense to hold his tongue.
She waited, and then Timlir stepped away from her. He reached back wordlessly, and wrapped his arm around her hand. She groped Goldenthall’s arm behind her with her free hand until she found the man’s wrist, and then wrenched him forward as she followed Timlir’s lead.
The dwarf led them through the darkness, pausing occasionally, no doubt to let some patrol pass. Xaxia couldn’t flatten herself against any nearby walls, because she didn’t know where such walls were.
She had expected at least a little light in this place. Perhaps it had been a mistake to sneak inside at night. She hoped Timlir didn’t go down, because without the dwarf she wasn’t going to get out of here alive. Not like this.
At one point, Timlir mumbled the word “stairs” to warn her that steps were coming. She stumbled over the first stair, as did Goldenthall behind her, but the pair quickly got into the rhythm. She counted each step, and after the twenty-fifth, she unexpectedly hit level floor, and her foot stomped down on the imaginary step she had been expecting.
Timlir remained motionless in the dark ahead of her, his grip tight upon her palm, pulling her down. She crouched, and yanked on Goldenthall’s hand so that he would duck, too; no doubt her small thud had attracted the attention of nearby night elves. The dwarf waited for them to pass, hoping, like her, that they wouldn’t notice the trio.
She held her breath, listening intently, but heard nothing except her own beating heart. If there were night elves out there, they were a stealthy bunch.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Timlir led her forward once more. Goldenthall didn’t stumble at the top step as she had—her trip up had primed him, no doubt.
She no longer heard the footsteps of either individual, and realized the trio was striding over some kind of carpet. That explained why she hadn’t heard anything from the night elves.
Timlir turned to the right sharply, pulling her. She tugged Goldenthall that way as well, figuring the dwarf was pulling them into a side room to avoid a passing elven patrol.
Timlir led her deeper into that room, and then halted.
She waited, hearing nothing.
She counted the seconds in her head.
At the three-minute mark, Timlir led her and Goldenthall back to where she imagined the opening was. His fingers were sweaty around her palm by then—she wasn’t sure if the perspiration came from him, or her. It was probably from both of them.
The dwarf led her into what she imagined was the hallway once more, and they continued forward. Then Timlir paused.
He released her hand, and she heard a very subtle jingling as he unhooked his ax from his belt. She hadn’t noticed that before when he’d retrieved the weapon. Just as she was thinking the dwarf was losing his touch, his boots thudded loudly to the left.
She heard two sickly squishes as his blade sliced through what must have been flesh, and then more thudding. Falling bodies. His boots, moving.
“Incurresana!” came an elvish voice. She understood a little elvish, thanks to her time with Ziatrice, and recognized the word for incursion.
“Shit!” she said.
She heard the din of multiple blades striking one another, and the swoosh of fired arrows, followed by the impact of arrowheads on steel.
It sounded like Timlir was overwhelmed in there.
She wasn’t about to let the dwarf fight alone. Even if it meant wading into a battle she could not see.
She slid Biter from its sheath, took a deep breath, and rushed into the opening of the room she had imagined in her head.
She almost tripped on the bodies Timlir had felled at the entrance. She stumbled forward, hitting someone else. She’d struck what felt like a shoulder with her chin. Too tall to be Timlir.
She stepped back, and raised her blade to defend against the blow she knew was coming. She heard the hiss of her opponent’s blade as it cut through the air, and stepped back, adjusting Biter. She wasn’t certain the precise angle the sword was coming in from, so when it struck, Biter was forced far back by the strike.
She nimbly sidestepped, flowing with the impact as she had been taught. She listened for the next soft swish, which came from the right. She leaped forward and to the left, striking out with her sword in a sweeping fashion, and felt the blade contact the steel of her opponent’s sword. Sparks flashed subtly as her weapon tore away tiny fragments from that of her foe’s, but didn’t produce enough light to see by. She might as well have fought blindfolded.
She estimated where her enemy stood, and ducked, swinging her boot in a sweeping motion. She struck her opponent’s ankles, and because of the superior strength imparted her by Biter, she tripped the man. Unfortunately, he didn’t fall where she thought he would, because a moment later she felt a heavy weight come crashing down upon her.
She tried to roll away, but it was too late, and her opponent forced her to the floor. She struck, twisting her wrist, losing Biter.
She instinctively slid the dagger from her belt, and stabbed it blindly into her opponent. She heard a sharp intake of air, and then her attacker’s weight shifted.
She used the opportunity to slide away, and reached for where she thought Biter lay. Nope. She groped frantically upon the floor, searching for the weapon.
Meanwhile she heard more thuds
, and more steel-on-steel strikes as Timlir continued to fight nearby. She thought Goldenthall had joined the struggle, too, but she couldn’t be sure.
She was about to draw her backup sword when she found Biter. Wasn’t the hilt. She heard a swish above her and ducked. She felt a rush of air just above her hair.
Close one.
Remaining at a crouch, she felt along the blade until she touched the guard, and then wrapped her fingers around the hilt, standing. She raised the blade at the same time—lucky for her, because the weapon deflected a blow she hadn’t known was coming. Biter tilted back precariously upon impact, striking her shoulder with the flat of the blade.
She shifted again, moving to the left, and, ducking, sliced out with her sword. It was part luck, and part estimation, because her sword hewed through something solid.
Biter abruptly lit up, becoming a moderately bright purple, and she felt a small amount of stamina flowing into her body. Under the illumination of the sword, she saw she had cut open the rib cage of her opponent. Yup, it was a night elf.
The man bared his teeth in a rictus as he stabbed at her again with his blade. But now Xaxia had the advantage. The blade blinded those eyes that were used to the dark, and she easily parried it. He left himself open, and she swung the blade around, taking his head. This time, more stamina flowed into her, but still not as much as she would have received had her opponent been an orak.
The blade flared even brighter, blinding all the night-accustomed enemies in the room with its dazzle. Including Timlir.
She rushed the enemy elves, quickly hewing through two in her path, and only gaining a little stamina from each. She reached an archer, but he threw his longbow at her and exchanged it for a sword he drew from his waist. His eyes had already adjusted to the brightness, because he fought well, and Xaxia couldn’t press the attack.
In fact, she was forced to retreat slightly.
Timlir suddenly rushed her, forcing her to the floor. He took over the battle against the skilled elven swordsman. At first she didn’t understand why he’d done that, and was a little angry.