by Isaac Hooke
He opened the door, and stepped quietly inside, followed by Solan. He noticed that the floor was made of wood, despite that her quarters were located in the tower section of the tree. Just like the study she had invited him to visit earlier. The framework that supported the bed’s mattress was made of wood as well, as were the bedposts.
Malem approached cautiously. Her comforter was down, revealing the white nightgown that clung to her body, accentuating her figure; the upper portion of the gown ended just above her breasts, where a series of cloth cords were loosely threaded in a crisscross pattern between them, barely holding back the ample bosom that threatened to spill forth. He stared longingly at that bosom, watching it rise and fall. His gaze was drawn up those bare shoulders, to that exposed neck, until it rested upon her gorgeous face.
He reminded himself of how much damage this beauty could do. There was no time to dawdle.
He reached an arm behind him. Give me the knife.
Solan withdrew the dagger from the loop at his belt and handed it over.
Malem gripped the hilt, and held the pointed tip over Wendolin. He aimed it at her belly, just above the hips. A blow there wouldn’t kill her, at least not immediately. But it would severely weaken her, long enough for him to Break her and get her to Weyanna for healing.
At the same time, Malem summoned the room’s griffin to the other side of the bed as well, and commanded it to hold a talon above her opposite hip.
Strike on my command, he told the creature.
Now that the two weapons of his choice were in place, he hesitated. His gaze was drawn to that bosom once more, and the face that owned them.
Well? Solan said.
He was supposed to be evil, now. Completely under Vorgon’s control. And yet, he found himself reluctant to do this. It was one of the fallacies of being a man, something that not even Vorgon’s influence could stamp out entirely: he hated the thought of harming a beautiful woman.
Since Malem could see the half elf with his own eyes, he also picked her up on his beast sense. He decided he was going to try to Break her while she slept, rather than stabbing her first.
So he reached out toward her energy bundle. But unfortunately, even though she slept, his will evaporated around her mind.
That was a mistake.
Her eyes shot open.
Stab her! he ordered the griffin.
He plunged his own blade downward. But it was too late.
Vines shot out from the wooden framework of the bed, and its posts, and wrapped around his wrist, stopping him. More vines erupted from the floor, wrapping around his legs. Similar plants entwined the griffin, and Solan.
Should have stabbed her first, damn it!
Wendolin sat up. Her eyes glinted with rage.
She glanced down at the dagger he held, and the vines ripped the knife away, disarming him.
“Your companions are about to die,” she said quietly.
23
Malem heard a choking sound to his left. Glancing that way, he saw that Solan’s face had turned blue. His mouth foamed, and his tongue jutted forth, swollen sickly.
The collar at Solan’s neck had become dangerously tight, crimping all of the surrounding skin as it crushed the underlying muscles and windpipes.
He sensed similar distress coming from the other bundles of energy in his head.
Wendolin was killing his companions.
Malem turned his gaze angrily upon her. He reached into her mind, but once more his will evaporated as it touched her own.
She laughed evilly. “Yes. They will all die. And there is nothing you can do to stop me.”
This elf, who was supposed to be the epitome of good, was killing everyone he had every loved.
The window shattered behind Malem.
Shards of glass struck his back, but he hardly felt their impact thanks to the dragonscale armor he wore. However, a couple of those fragments hit his exposed neck, and those definitely stung.
But Malem almost didn’t notice: he was too busy grinning maliciously.
The griffin he had summoned swept over the bed and attempted to claw Wendolin, but she was the quicker, and wrapped the monster up in vines. Another griffin attacked almost simultaneously, and it skidded past Malem first, cutting through the vines that held him with its sharp talons. He broke free as it leaped onto Wendolin, and watched as the griffin was entombed in vines like the first one.
Fresh branches tried to snatch Malem up; those branches were covered in small, puffy ovules, the same ovules that had released the sleep spores during his last major engagement against the tree elves.
Can’t let those touch me!
He rolled to the side, toward the marble headboard, one of the few objects in the room that wasn’t made of wood. Those branches almost grabbed him when a third griffin smashed though the broken window, and those vines swerved to intercept the more immediate threat.
Malem pulled himself onto the headboard, and off the floor. He felt vines wrap around his feet and tug downward. He kicked off his boots, pulling himself up.
The vines had ensnared the latest griffin by then; the room was quickly becoming crowded. Those vines released their sleep spores, putting the monster under.
Other branches manipulated the dagger he’d sought to stab her with, and they sliced though the necks of the captured griffins, including the one that was sleeping. The monsters screamed and convulsed in their death throes.
Meanwhile, Wendolin rose before him on a mound of vines and branches, like some demon ascending from the underworld.
The dagger turned toward him.
Another griffin smashed into the room, but the dagger swerved to intercept it, cutting the creature open.
Malem leaped at her. Branches wrapped around his waist, stopping his forward motion.
“Now you and your friends die,” Wendolin said.
The griffin had survived having its belly ripped open, and it darted toward the queen. She turned her head in annoyance to send more branches its way.
Malem smiled. “You first.”
His arms were free—in the confusion, she had failed to notice what he had retrieved from his person. Thus, while she was still distracted, he reached out and clamped the collar around her neck.
It fell into place with an audible CLICK.
Her eyes filled with fear.
“No,” she said softly.
The vines withered away as she lost all access to her magic. So the griffin stored inside the collar yet lived after all.
Solan dropped to the floor, landing next to the dying griffin. He held his throat below the collar, which had returned to its normal size, and gasped frantically for air.
In his mind, Malem sensed similar relief from the energy bundles of his companions, but also sheer desperation as they struggled to inhale air now that the collars had loosened, as if they were worried they might not ever come back from the brink.
Malem reached into Wendolin’s mind. The collar had shriveled her will, allowing his mental tendrils to wrap around her energy with ease. There was no evaporating this time. He squeezed.
“No!” she howled.
Malem tightened the vise of his will, and she fell to her knees.
He Broke her.
She collapsed, weeping, in front of him. “No, no, no. I am a queen!” she wailed.
Drunk on power, Malem was hardly listening. She was like a buzzing fly for all the concern he felt. His mental headspace expanded a similar amount to when he had Broken Mauritania. Assuming Wendolin gave him the same boost, that meant an extra ten slots, putting him at a grand total of seventy-four. He noted that her energy bundle was relatively close to Vorgon’s at the core of his being, nearer even than Mauritania, who was now second closest to his center, after Wendolin.
Finally he turned his attention upon the broken and sobbing woman. He felt no pity. She was simply a tool of Vorgon’s will. A tool that had threatened to kill those who were the most important to him. Yes, she deserved n
o compassion.
“Stand,” he commanded her.
She stared at him through the tears. “Fuck you.”
“Oh you will, don’t you worry about that,” he said.
She began to laugh insanely.
“Stand,” he repeated, further constricting his will. She was in no condition to resist, and stood like a marionette. Her laughter instantly cut off. “Now, you will—”
But then she fought him.
So much for her being in no shape to resist.
She squirmed beneath his mental grasp, frantically twisting to and fro, and he was forced to draw strength from Vorgon to hold her at bay.
But then Vorgon was gone.
Malem staggered suddenly.
Vorgon, where are you? I need—
He froze, and blinked. He was still firmly tethered to the other men and women he had Broken, but there was no Balor at his core. It was like he had gone back to the way he had been before Vorgon bound him.
I’m free.
This sudden freedom obviously distracted him, and Wendolin nearly tore away from his mental grasp. She wouldn’t be able to escape his Breaking, of course—that was irreversible. But she could still strike out at him physically; perhaps, as a half elf, she was even strong enough to kill him.
He tightened his grip, still in awe at what was happening. He was gentler with her than usual, partially because he felt grateful to her for what she had done, and partly because gentleness was simply his way with those he had Broken. He also drained a small amount of stamina from her—usually that put them in line, but it only made her fight all the harder.
She has spirit.
“There’s no point in fighting me,” Malem told her. “Even if I wanted to let you loose, I can’t. Once I Break a half monster, the joining becomes permanent, our wills inextricably tangled. I’m very sorry. The only freedom is in death.”
“Then I will kill you!” she lunged toward him, tearing from his mental hold. She had surreptitiously collected the dagger from where it had fallen on the bed, and directed the blade toward his throat.
He caught her wrist, stopping the deadly blow. She drew back her free arm and tried to punch him, but he grabbed that hand, too.
She was right in front of his face, so close that he could smell her intoxicating perfume. Her breasts jiggled tantalizingly at the periphery of his vision.
“Don’t look at me like that, you bastard,” she said, holding his gaze defiantly. She was still fighting against him mentally, though not as fervently. He could sense resignation seeping into her energy bundle. And something else… arousal?
“I can’t help it,” he told her. He squeezed her wrist tighter, forcing her to drop the dagger. She flinched in pain.
“Let me go,” she commanded.
“I told you, I can’t,” he said.
“My wrist, asshole,” she said.
Malem released her, shoving her backward, and she fell back on the bed. Once again, those breasts…
But he didn’t ponder the sight for long, because he sensed the vague echo of Vorgon creeping back into his mind. Budding arousal was replaced with panic.
And then Wendolin resisted his will with her earlier intensity, fighting with renewed fury.
Vorgon’s malevolent presence vanished now that she was battling him at her strongest. Relief would have flooded into him, if he weren’t busy expending mental energy combating her.
He drained more stamina from her, though just enough to get a handle on her will—he didn’t want her to stop fighting.
Still holding his throat, Solan stood up beside him. “Do you need help?” He asked in a gruff voice. It sounded like he’d dined on sandpaper.
Malem raised a halting hand and focused on the fight with Wendolin.
Vorgon was still gone from his head. Malem was no longer the Defiler. He was the Breaker once again.
This never happened when the others he had Broken resisted his will. Somehow, by fighting him, Wendolin could recreate those moments of freedom that had gripped him so fleetingly in the past, usually after Vorgon had departed to that nether realm and the demon’s hold over him weakened.
In that moment he could understand why Vorgon wanted her so badly. She truly had the power to transcend realms. That she could negate Vorgon’s influence over Malem was a demonstration of just how powerful she truly was.
But she couldn’t fight him forever. No one could.
Already, resignation and exhaustion were beginning to take over her being. Her resistance lessened. He poured stamina into her, hoping she would fight harder, but she seemed to take it as a reward, and stopped battling him entirely. He clawed that stamina back.
“Hey!” she said, and fought anew. Good.
He wanted to enjoy this moment of freedom for as long as possible. He wanted to bask in it, relish in this liberty of thought. But it would be selfish to stay completely inside his head alone. He had to let the others know something.
Gwen, Malem sent to all of those connected to him.
You called me Gwen! the half gobling replied.
Are you free of Vorgon? Abigail asked.
No, Malem replied. At least not permanently. I just wanted to tell you all… I love every one of you. I ask you to forgive how I’ve treated you these past six months. It’s been… hard. I wish I could go back in time, and prevent myself from ever fighting on the front lines. From ever returning. Those days we spent traveling through the Midweald, after leaving Tartan, were the best days of my life.
Oh Malem… Abigail said, sounding heartbroken.
How can we make this freedom from Vorgon permanent? Ziatrice asked, ever the matter-of-fact one.
We can’t, Malem replied.
Then at least tell us how you did it! Ziatrice pressed.
Wendolin is the key, he told her.
On the bed, Wendolin stopped fighting.
Vorgon was quickly returning. Festering at Malem’s core, the demon’s tendrils spread throughout his mind. Such a short taste of freedom.
How is Wendolin the key? Ziatrice asked.
In reply, Malem muted all the women. He had already forgotten what it was like to be free.
You have her! Vorgon said.
Yes, master, Malem said.
Excellent, Vorgon said. I await your return, Defiler.
It’s too bad, Malem said. I was looking forward to torching the forest with you.
Oh, I never said I wasn’t going to torch the forest! Vorgon said.
Malem grinned. He loved his master.
He glanced at Wendolin, who stared at him and Solan with defiant eyes. He almost didn’t want to give her up. Ten slots was a lot. Not to mention, she commanded powerful magic, which he now controlled indirectly.
No. She is Vorgon’s. In mind, and soon, in body.
And yet, he wasn’t entirely sure how Vorgon intended to Break her, if she was already claimed by Malem. He hadn’t lied to Wendolin: there was no way to release their connection, save through death.
And then Malem suddenly understood.
Vorgon intended to kill him.
No, that can’t be true.
The Balor probably had a way of transferring the Breaking while sparing Malem, seeing as Vorgon had facilitated the original act, if indirectly.
And yet, what if Malem’s death was the only way?
He smiled bleakly.
I will gladly die for my master.
24
Malem studied Wendolin. “How do we remove the collar from your throat?”
She didn’t answer, so he tightened his will around her.
“We need the key,” she spat out.
“Where is it?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“Where?” he repeated.
Before she could answer, he heard footsteps rapidly approaching from the rooms beyond. The guards had finally decided to show up.
“You will dismiss them,” Malem told Wendolin.
She folded her arms beneath her breasts, wh
ich only caused them to perk up even more. “Will I now?”
Three elven men rushed inside, one of them a mage. They stared at the fallen griffins and broken tree branches in shock. Their faces darkened when they saw Malem and Solan.
Tell them to stand down, he ordered Wendolin.
The mage’s eyes defocused, and branches wrapped around Malem and Solan.
Don’t make me kill them… Malem sent.
“Release them,” Wendolin ordered.
The mage glanced at her, confused. “My queen?”
“Grison, if you value your life, you will let them go,” she said. “I have the situation completely under control.”
The mage, Grison, bowed. The branches flowed back into the wooden floor beneath Malem and Solan, freeing them.
“Go,” Wendolin said.
Grison and the others bowed, and left.
When the guards left, Malem heard more footsteps rushing toward the room.
He heard Grison’s voice coming from the adjacent room. “She says she’s fine.”
Two more elves peeked inside. “My queen?”
“Get out!” she roared at the newcomers.
The two elves cringed and quickly departed. Wendolin didn’t like her liegemen seeing her this way. He could keenly feel the shame running through her energy bundle. The sheer mortification at being conquered.
“Did you see her throat?” Malem overhead one of the elves saying as they departed. “She is collared!”
He didn’t hear the muffled reply.
“That can’t be good,” Solan said. “Should I kill them?”
Malem shook his head. “Let the word spread that the Defiler has collared their queen.”
“They’ll never follow you,” Wendolin said.
“We’ll see,” Malem told her. “Now then, the key to the collars?”
“One of my officers holds it for safe keeping,” Wendolin said. “He is with your other companions, in the Guest Tower.”
“That’s perfect,” Malem said. “Because the Guest Tower is our next destination.”
The birds he’d sent out to survey the windows of Dothloron had found his companions, so he knew precisely where that tower was.