Defiler

by Isaac Hooke

  Thinks he’s a better fighter than me, does he? Typical man!

  But then waves of arrows came in at the dwarf. She realized he’d just saved her life. And was very likely going to die for it.

  She quickly scanned the room under the light of her sword, and saw that archers lined the peripheries of the chamber. They fired another wave at the dwarf, but strangely he remained standing. The arrows simply dropped down to the floor, their tips blunted.

  Some of the elves aimed at her as she started to get up, but Timlir relocated so that he stood in front of her as he fought the swordsman.

  The elves fired again, but once more all of the arrows missed the mark. Elves were renown for their archery skills, so this didn’t add up… she studied him closely when she clambered to her feet and the next wave came—well, as closely as a split second allowed—and realized the arrows were inexplicably drawn to the ax blade. They all hit the same spot near the haft, no matter where he held the weapon, and promptly dropped to the floor. Had to be some magic innate to the blade.

  Smears of dark magic crossed the room, and for a moment she thought they were destined for Timlir, but they struck three of the archers. She glanced toward the entrance, and saw Goldenthall standing there. His eyes were black, and dark mist issued from them in plumes.

  Not thinking too hard on what she’d just seen, she rushed past Timlir and made for the remaining archers, who had all turned their bows toward Goldenthall. She hewed down two of them, but before she could get to the remaining five, they unleashed their arrows.

  She glanced toward the entrance, expecting to find Goldenthall turned into a pincushion, but instead the arrows had found the marks in five oraks who had suddenly arrived from nowhere. Pikes in hand, those oraks rushed the elves. Fletchings protruded from their bronze armor where the arrows had struck.

  Biter called out to her, begging for the blood of the oraks. She obliged it, beheading the first orak as it reached the archers. Biter lit up so strongly, that it may as well have been daylight in there.

  She straightened as endurance flowed through her body.

  That was more like it.

  She struck down the first archer, and let the other oraks handle the remaining four. Then she turned toward Timlir, who faced off against three elven swordsmen by then.

  Full of energy, she dashed into the fray, surprising the attackers. She moved in a blur, cutting off the head of the first swordsman, and pairing off against the second while Timlir handled the third.

  Threads of dark magic wrapped around the creature, courtesy of Goldenthall, but the night elf laughed, apparently immune.

  She blocked two of his blows in rapid succession, then struck a glancing blow on the repartee. She swept her blade upward, parrying the next strike, and then sidestepped, feigning a strike high. The elf fell for it. Maintaining eye contact with the creature, she shifted the weapon down instead, slicing underneath its parry, and striking through the leather armor of its chest. She bit into its rib cage, and Biter, whose brightness had diminished somewhat, flared once again.

  But then another night elf came at her from the side. The attack took her off guard. She narrowly parried the blow, but her opponent tripped her with a boot at the same time, and she dropped to the floor. She hit hard, and once more lost her weapon.

  She rolled away as the enemy’s blade flashed down. The night elf stood between her and Biter, and smiled menacingly, revealing sharp teeth.

  She reluctantly switched to her backup sword.

  Biter, though on the floor, still lit up the room, allowing her to see. She glanced at Timlir and the oraks, who were occupied with the remaining night elves. Goldenthall, too, was fighting an elf, using the spare blade she had given him. He still sent out streams of dark magic, but the remaining night elves, including her current opponent, proved immune to it. Her foe simply fought through the black mists that wrapped around its body.

  She moved slower, and the blade felt heavier. She was obviously outmatched. She felt every blow that she parried, the impacts vibrating down her arms, rumbling her chest cavity. She was barely able to defend against the fast, frantic attacks. Her blade was nearly knocked away entirely a few times.

  I’m not strong enough.

  She cleared her mind. She was. She could do this.

  A glancing blow from her enemy’s sword cut into her thighs, bringing her back to the present moment. She concentrated. Moving through the sword forms she had learned from other mercenaries, sword forms she had modified to suit her own height and weight. Unfortunately, those forms were also designed for the enhanced speed and strength Biter gave her, which threw her off.

  More cuts appeared on her chest, and her arms.

  She was going to lose this.

  Her opponent’s eyes lit up, full in the knowledge that he was about to kill this human interloper. No help was coming from her friends, they were all occupied.

  I’m going to die.

  20

  Another strike to Xaxia’s thigh brought her focus back to the fore, and she bit down on the pain, and concentrated on redirecting the anger. She was going to wipe that smirk off this asshole’s face.

  She struck harder, gritting her teeth. She risked leaving herself open twice to take the offensive, and only narrowly parried the follow-up blow that came after. It skimmed her neck, and she felt the sting, and the subtle trickle of blood.

  And then her opponent made a mistake. He swung too far, trying to end this too early, obviously attempting to cut her head clean off her shoulders.

  She ducked underneath the blade, stepped to the side, and struck upward in an arc as she stood. The blade passed below the night elf’s right arm, passing clean through his rib cage.

  The night elf looked at her with absolute shock in his eyes, and blood gurgled from his lips.

  He collapsed.

  Panting, she turned around, looking for other foes to face, but the others were just finishing up. Goldenthall felled his own foe as she watched, while Timlir looked like he had just taken out his opponent. The oraks, meanwhile, had been reduced to a trio; they simply stood there, above the bodies of three night elves, calmly watching her.

  “Thanks for the help,” she scolded the oraks.

  One of them shrugged.

  No other enemies stood, so she sheathed the blade and strode to where Biter had fallen on the floor. She scooped it up, calmly walked back to her former opponent; the night elf was crawling along the floor, trying to get away.

  She stabbed him in the back, killing him. The blade flared a bright purple. She straightened as a small amount of stamina flowed into her body.

  “Asshole.” She withdrew the blade, and turned toward the door. “Goldenthall, or Banvil, whatever the fuck you are, have those oraks guard the entrance.”

  Goldenthall raised an amused eyebrow, as if he found her commanding tone funny or something. But then he nodded, and the three oraks rushed to the entrance, passing him to stand guard.

  As she stood there, panting, she spotted a black sphere sitting at the center of the room. She hadn’t noticed it until that moment. Without having to ask, she knew it was the Dark Eye, the huge, head-sized jewel that had once festooned the hilt of Banvil’s massive sword. Festoon. That wasn’t the proper word. Festoon implied bright, gaudy ornamentation. This was far from bright. The blackness at its center appeared to eat all the light produced by Biter, and almost seemed to call out to her as she stared at it.

  Entranced, she slowly strode toward it. She reached out, still lost in its hypnotic pull, but before she could touch it, another hand scooped the item up.

  She stood, stunned.

  Goldenthall had beat her to it. He held the weapon in both hands, smiling maliciously. When he looked up, his eyes had become an even starker black. The mist ebbed and flowed from them in vibrant waves.

  “I thank you for leading me back to what is mine,” Banvil’s deep voice came from his lips.

  From his words, she thought that Goldenthall
was going to betray her, and open up a portal to the Dark Realm right there and abandon her, or some similar treachery, but then the former king-turned-Balor surprised her, and tossed her the sphere.

  She caught it in her free arm. She could tell it was heavy, or at least meant to be, but the strength imparted to her by Biter negated its weight. Now that it touched her, she couldn’t break her gaze from it. Again she felt the Dark Eye’s call. She just wanted to hold onto it forever, and never let go.

  It seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, and she worried she might drop it. She suddenly realized that the object itself wasn’t inherently heavy, but rather, it was draining her.

  She glanced at Goldenthall; he was smirking, his eyes matching the infinite darkness of the orb.

  She stepped back, and dropped Biter; she lowered her backpack in her free hand, and quickly shoved the Dark Eye inside. Strength promptly returned. She scooped up Biter, and when she looked back at Goldenthall, his eyes had returned to normal, and dark mist no longer issued forth from them.

  “How much of the Balor’s power do you possess?” she asked, thinking back on his display of dark magic during the fight. Not to mention his ability to summon oraks, of all things.

  Goldenthall shook his head. “The question should be, how much of the Balor possesses me?”

  Once again she wondered how good of an idea it was to allow Banvil to enter Malem when the time came.

  She dismissed the thought. She’d deal with that when the time came.

  She glanced at Timlir. “Was a portal open when you arrived?”

  The dwarf nodded. “We likely trapped a good number in the Black Realm. Their mage was holding open the gate when I entered. Needless to say, he was the third I hewed down, after the two at the door. The gate closed when he fell.”

  “There were no more mages?” she asked.

  “Only two,” he replied. “But they followed the first mage shortly thereafter.” He patted the rim of his ax.

  “Well, that explains why we didn’t have to face any dark magic attacks,” she commented.

  “You didn’t, lassy,” the dwarf said. “But I did.”

  He slid the haft of the ax through the loop at his belt, and then lifted up his chest piece to reveal the dark veins that festered beneath. She inhaled with a hiss when she saw that.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not a mortal wound,” he said. “Not yet, at least. I should be able to last a few weeks. Long enough to find a healer specializing in dark magic treatment.”

  She glanced at Goldenthall, who shook his head. “Banvil can’t reach into this world enough to heal. I’m not sure he even knows how. Destruction is all he’s ever dealt in.”

  Xaxia nodded, and returned her attention to Timlir. “Well, I might know someone who can help you.”

  She kept her sword drawn on the way out, so as to confer light. The oraks led the way—they still answered to Goldenthall, even when his voice and eyes were normal.

  An orak fell as they approached the stairs—two elven archers had taken cover beneath the topmost steps, and fired arrows. Timlir drew his ax, and rushed them. The arrows struck his blade, falling away harmlessly; the two archers stood up as he approached, drawing their swords to meet him, but Timlir was the faster, and hewed down the pair of them before they could get in a blow.

  On the second floor, the party encountered two more night elves, these firing arrows from the cover of a room that adjoined the hall, and the remaining oraks were struck down. Timlir plowed forward once again, twirling his blade in front of him as a shield, and the arrows were drawn to it, dropping away harmlessly. Xaxia followed right behind the fighter, and when he bowled over the first elf, she stabbed at the second, and in two quick moves the two of them had cut down their foes. Her sword flared brightly with the kill, but bestowed only a pittance of stamina.

  Timlir took the lead now that the oraks were gone. She followed close behind him, with Goldenthall taking up the rear. The dwarf was more impressive than she thought. She felt a primal attraction to him in that moment, the same attraction all woman felt when they saw a man who was a master at his craft. Though in this case, Timlir’s craft was killing.

  She was aware of her attraction only at a near-subconscious level, as her heart continued to pound in her chest, and her mind remained attuned to her every surroundings, waiting for the next attack, thick in the throes of bloodlust. She wanted to both kill, and fuck, at the moment. She prayed that the party would encounter more dark elves, so she could at least satisfy one of those urges.

  She got her wish when loud footfalls heralded the arrival of dark elves from behind. Four of them, probably members of a rooftop patrol. One of them was a dark mage, judging from the black robes he wore.

  Threads of dark mist erupted from that one, eating the light produced by Xaxia’s blade.

  Goldenthall stepped into the path of that evil magic, and the darkness swerved toward him, drawn to his form. He held out his arm and laughed a Balor’s laugh as the black streams flowed into him, and the mage stepped back, filled with a sudden terror.

  The archers stepped forth, and fired at Goldenthall.

  Timlir was there; the dwarf leaped in front of the possessed man, and absorbed the arrows with his ax. The bolts clattered to the floor.

  “Get out of the way, fool!” Goldenthall said in Banvil’s voice.

  Timlir glanced back, and when he saw Goldenthall’s face, his eyes widened, and he immediately stepped out of the way. Xaxia couldn’t see his visage from here, but she was well aware of what Goldenthall looked like when Banvil was in full control of the former king.

  Goldenthall held out his hands, and the dark mist he had absorbed shot back at the elves. One of them screamed as dark veins climbed up his face, and he collapsed; but the others were immune.

  The dark mage, feeling more courageous, stepped forward and raised his hands to begin another attack, but then he was run through from behind by a bronze pike. Banvil had summoned another orak.

  Two, apparently: a second pike drilled through the night elf next to the mage.

  The last remaining elf spun, drawing its sword to stab the closest orak.

  Timlir raced forward once again, and as the elf defended against the second orak, the dwarf stabbed the elf in the back.

  “Well, that was dirty,” Xaxia told him when he returned with the orak.

  “All fights are dirty,” Timlir declared.

  “Are you able to summon more oraks?” she asked Goldenthall. “If so, why not bring an army?”

  Goldenthall’s eyes had returned to normal. “Banvil can’t, actually. He has limited access to his dark powers, especially in his current weakened state. He was pretty much done after the first display you saw upstairs, but when the dark mage arrived to lend him a fresh supply of the stuff, Banvil was happy to bring along a few friends.”

  “Well, have the orak lead the way,” she told the former king.

  “Of course,” Goldenthall said. “Oraks make great fodder. Even Banvil admits this.”

  The orak took point, and was the first to fall when three more night elves blocked the way. The party had their fighting strategy down pat by then: Timlir rushed forward, taking the arrows, while Xaxia and Goldenthall followed in behind. As soon as the elves realized their arrows weren’t working, they switched to blades, but by then the trio had closed the distance, and hewed two of them down before they even finished drawing. The third didn’t last long, not against the three of them.

  No more attacks came after that, and the trio made their way back to the sally point—really just a small hallway near the basement—and exited the keep. They kept to the shadows, retracing their steps, and eventually emerged from the broken walls of the city itself.

  Soon she was leading Vesuvius away across the road that cut through the plains. Biter was scabbarded at her hips. Timlir guided his pony beside her, and Goldenthall followed behind, between them.

  Xaxia didn’t want to ride at night, not with all
the potential dangers out there—even though the road was relatively visible under the moonlight, the wreckages of carriages littered the path, along with the corpses of monsters and men. No, they would be walking for at least a short while, then they would make camp, sleep, and, ride in the morning. Vesuvius would be glad for the respite.

  At least she was free of the urges the bloodlust had wreaked. Instead, she was experiencing the down that came after every battle: she had a headache, and felt weak to the point her arms trembled slightly when she tried to lift them. The feeling would pass, soon. It always did.

  She glanced over her shoulder past Vesuvius and watched the dark shape of Barbararus recede beneath the light of the half moon. She wasn’t sad to leave the city behind. The fight for the Dark Eye hadn’t been an easy one, though she hadn’t expected it to be otherwise. The road ahead was no less difficult.

  With the artifact, Malem—or an appropriate user of dark magic under his power—could open a portal to the Black Realm and seek out Banvil’s raw essence. In fact, Goldenthall could probably use the Eye to open a portal himself. The former king had promised to be their guide in the Black Realm. Though apparently they wouldn’t have to look very hard to find Banvil once they arrived. However, it would still take some time.

  She wondered if she was leading Malem into a trap.

  What if Banvil is deceiving me?

  Goldenthall had mentioned a price, but refused to discuss what that price might be.

  She prayed it wasn’t something too terrible.

  “So when are we going to use the Eye?” Timlir said from beside her. “And open a portal to the Black Realm? I want to seek my wife as soon as possible!”

  “I can’t use the Eye,” she said.

  “Yes, but he can obviously.” Timlir nodded at Goldenthall.

  “Maybe,” Xaxia said.

  “What do you mean, maybe?” Timlir said. “We came all this way, and you don’t have the power to use it?” He threw up his arms. “You could have told me before we began. Ah, but it doesn’t matter. I’m sure we can find a dark mage somewhere whose services are for hire.”