by Isaac Hooke
For once I’d like to live a life unchallenged, Gwenfrieda told her.
I think we all would, Malem said. He thought of what awaited him when he arrived, and caressed the sack at his hips. He wondered if he would be able to find it within himself to defy Vorgon, and use the pearl that lay inside that sack when the time came.
Malem guided the dragons using his beast sense. Ziatrice was his beacon. Or rather his sense of her. He didn’t have a specific direction, but merely adjusted the flight of the dragons based on how weak or strong her sense became with time. In that manner, the party slowly returned to the entrance point.
Sylfi was the first to sight it. The portal is ahead.
Take us down, Malem ordered.
The dragons landed in front of the door-sized portal.
Malem dismounted easily. He had recovered his strength during the journey back, though he could really use a big meal.
He noticed the strange footprints in the ground around the black opening.
“That can’t be good,” Gwenfrieda said, also spotting them.
“Those are our footsteps,” Xaxia said.
“Really?” Gwenfrieda said, pointing out large, circular holes. There were no toe impressions of any kind.
“One of those stilt creatures probably came here,” Malem said. “But only to explore. It would have never fit through the opening.”
“Probably stuck its stilt inside, and received a nasty sting from the other side,” Timlir commented.
“There are other footprints…” Gwenfrieda said. “Look almost like horses hooves.”
“Ours?” Xaxia asked, leading Vesuvius forward. Brita had only released it from her talons a moment ago.
Malem studied the multitude of impressions in the sand that led to the gate. “No. A lot certainly passed this way.” He drew his sword. “We may have a fight waiting for us on the other side.”
The dragons returned to human form. Goldenthall whistled when he saw the well-toned, naked bodies, and the girls blushed, covering their privates. Timlir meanwhile looked away and whistled to himself, looking like he was having a hard time keeping his gaze to himself.
Mauritania and Gwenfrieda didn’t have any spare clothes in their packs—in fact, Mauritania had lost her backpack entirely, and Gwenfrieda’s looked like it was ready to fall away as well, with one shoulder strap missing.
Malem didn’t allow his gaze to linger on their naked bodies. Nor did he accost Goldenthall for his lechery. He was too distracted by what was coming.
“We return,” Malem said. “Xaxia, Mauritania, you first.”
“My horse?” Xaxia said.
“Gwenfrieda, you will lead Xaxia’s horse through,” Malem ordered.
Xaxia and Mauritania drew their weapons and entered in turn.
Malem held Balethorn steady in his hands and followed behind them. The darkness consumed him, as did the infernal buzzing that came with it, until he emerged in the realm of man.
He stood in the copse. The morning sun was just cresting the horizon.
Large, horse-like monsters lay scattered on the ground around him, dead. Some of their tentacled heads had been cut off, others bore signs of venom damage, with flanks melted away to reveal rib cages. Still others had bodies that seemed to have imploded, while others were wrapped in spider silk.
Xaxia was on his left, Mauritania his right, standing in defensive positions.
Movement drew his gaze beyond the trees.
Nemertes lifted her head. “So the great Defiler returns. I wondered if you’d arrive in time. I couldn’t decide if the monsters would get to her first, or the stamina loss.”
Beside him, the portal flickered.
The Dark Eye remained on the ground beside it, but there was no sign of Ziatrice. Wait. Was that a blue elbow, sticking out from behind one of the monster corpses in front of him? And a halberd lying on the ground beside it?
He stepped to the side, revealing where Ziatrice had moved away from the portal, likely to put some distance between her and the monsters that had emerged from the Black Realm.
She sat cross-legged, but looked haggard and pale, with her eyes glassy. Her head bobbed visibly, as if she was having trouble staying awake. Weak streams of dark magic connected her to the Dark Eye.
Malem fed her stamina immediately. She straightened, and the streams of dark magic increased in intensity. The portal stopped flickering.
Ziatrice looked up. “Finally.”
“Miss me?” he asked
“Like a horse misses a botfly,” she replied.
He chuckled, and turned to watch the others pass through the portal. The four dragons emerged. Gwenfrieda led Vesuvius, as promised, while Timlir followed with Stridesfast.
Malem waited.
When no one else emerged, he glanced at Timlir. “Goldenthall?”
The dwarf turned toward the portal. “The mad king was right behind me.” Timlir shrugged. “But if he chooses to stay, let him I say.”
But then Goldenthall stumbled forward. “Demons come! They come! Seal the gate!” he hissed.
Malem glanced at Ziatrice, and nodded.
She ceased the ribbons of dark magic, and when the last threads flowed into the Eye, the portal blinked out.
“Just kidding!” Goldenthall said, giggling. He sheathed his sword drunkenly.
“Did he drink something?” Gwenfrieda asked.
“No, he’s always like this,” Xaxia said. “When Banvil doesn’t have him.”
“Banvil,” Malem said.
He gazed intently at Goldenthall, who was staring at Nemertes; the former king muttered softly, his hand on his scabbarded sword hilt, as if he was contemplating rushing the dragon.
“Banvil,” Malem repeated, louder.
Still the former king didn’t respond.
Malem smiled. I killed Banvil. It is done, then.
Ziatrice stood up, and collected her halberd wearily.
“What’s up with these things?” Xaxia kicked one of the corpses.
“These little creatures tried to pass through into our realm,” Nemertes said.
Goldenthall issued a sudden war cry, and drew his rusty, dented sword to rush the dragon.
Nemertes casually held out a talon, and slid it into the former king’s backpack, pinning him to the ground. Goldenthall struck frantically at the talon, and the paw that sourced it, but the sword did no damaged whatsoever. Malem was reminded of a cat toying with a mouse.
“Can I kill him?” Nemertes asked.
“Now, now, play nice,” Malem said.
“You’re such a cruel master,” Nemertes said. “I like Vorgon better.”
That name sparked something in Malem.
Vorgon.
There was something he needed to do. Something involving the Balor. But what was it again?
He glanced at the sack at his hips.
Ah, yes. Now he remembered. He wanted to return the sack to Vorgon for safekeeping. That, and allow his master to take his life, so Vorgon could Break Wendolin.
He felt his master at his core, and drank of the demon’s stamina. It sated his physical hunger.
On cue, Vorgon’s voice came in his head. Where have you been?
There were some last errands I had to run before morning, Malem sent. Debts I had to repay.
And did you pay them? Vorgon asked.
In full, Malem replied, smiling as he thought of what he had done to Banvil.
Good, because the time for paying debts has passed, Vorgon said. There is only one final debt remaining, owed personally to me. Come, Defiler. It is time to die.
38
A tear in the fabric of reality appeared in front of Malem. It started out as a translucent line that bent the image of the land behind it, expanding vertically until it was the height of a man, at which point it spread outward horizontally, forming an ellipse. It was like some magical lens that distorted the copse behind it.
Malem had been expecting a portal of infinite darkness, but he
supposed this was an artifact of whatever nether world Vorgon called home.
Malem glanced over his shoulder at the women. “Leave me.”
“We’re going with you!” Gwenfrieda said.
He spun on her and the others, drawing his sword. “Silence!”
He spoke with a Balor’s voice, and a shockwave of black mist traveled out from him before dissipating. The closest monster bodies rolled away from him under its force.
The women retreated in shock.
“Do not follow,” Malem said, more softly, speaking between gritted teeth.
He was in battle mode. Every muscle tensed. His heart beating frantically. Why? There was no one to fight.
He had a knuckle-white grip on his sword hilt, and he forced himself to relax that grasp, if only a little.
Breathing hard, he forced himself to sheath the sword.
He glanced at the others once more. “Do not follow. Just go. Get as far away from here as you can.”
Then he stepped through.
Reality distorted around him, as did his sense of self. He no longer had a body. He just existed, surrounded by whiteness everywhere he looked. Pure, blinding white.
Objects began to take form in that white. As did the body that harbored his being. He stood on a bleak landscape made of glassy, pale shale. There were a few rolling hills, but no vegetation that he could see. Wait. Not far to his right resided a dead tree, its branches twisted and gnarled. The sky above it was a dull gray, though he could not see a sun.
He spotted a pale, white, vaguely humanoid creature standing next to that tree.
Motion drew his gaze behind him, and for a moment he thought one of the women had followed, and anger filled him. But it was only the portal closing behind him, trapping him forever in this nether realm.
He turned around, looking for Vorgon, but saw nothing but those shale-covered hills around him.
“Master?” he asked.
No answer.
He felt Vorgon at his core, stronger than ever, so he knew his master was here. His other companions felt distant, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to communicate with them. All save Wendolin, whom he felt with the same immediacy as Vorgon. She was directly ahead, where the tree resided. There were no other entities on his beast sense whatsoever.
Malem walked toward the tree, and approached the naked humanoid in front of it. Strange how he couldn’t sense that creature. It made him wonder if there were other monsters here evading his detection.
As he got closer, he realized it was a female of some kind, at least judging from the pale breasts and lack of male genitalia.
“What are you?” he asked when he reached the humanoid.
She didn’t reply. The female simply remained there, motionless, her mouth open, her eyes glassy. That face was so twisted, so ugly, resembling nothing human. Whatever it was, he suspected it was native to this realm.
But then he checked his beast sense, searching for Wendolin again.
Her energy bundle was directly in front of him.
With a shock, he realized this was Wendolin.
Or what was left of her.
No.
What had he done?
But then he heard a moan coming from the far side of the tree.
He quickly rounded it, and was relieved when he found the actual Wendolin. Her head was bowed, her chin touching her upper chest, and her waist and arms were tied to the tree. This was what his beast sense had been pointing at, not the creature.
“You scared me,” he told her. “I thought Vorgon had destroyed you.”
Her chin shot up, and her eyes were wild. “Malem? Get out of here! Go!”
“I’m going to cut your binds,” he said firmly, reaching for Balethorn.
“No!” she said. “Vorgon is here! He will destroy the world!”
The sudden pity he felt from her vanished when he heard that name. He stepped back, ashamed by what he had been about to do.
What am I doing? Vorgon obviously wants her tied.
He paused to consider her situation.
The Balor had probably placed some sort of debuff zone about the tree, rendering her magic useless. If he cut her away, she might have been able to escape that zone, something that would’ve definitely pissed off Vorgon.
It was interesting, how the demon had chosen to bind her to a tree of all things. Obviously it was done to mock her. To show how weak and powerless she had become, her plant-based brand of earth magic but a distant memory.
Yes, Vorgon always did have an amusing sense of irony.
“You see this sorry creature?” Vorgon asked. The Balor had materialized directly to Malem’s left in all its terrible glory. Blue flames competed with shadows to maintain that hulking form.
“Wendolin?” Malem said.
“No, this one.” The Balor pointed its huge ax at the far side of the tree, where the humanoid resided.
Malem stepped to the side to better regard the pale creature.
“She is Wendolin’s equivalent in this realm,” Vorgon said. “I use her to tap into the reserve essence I unlocked after killing everything. This is the future of your world. Is it not joyful?”
“It is,” Malem agreed, smiling as he looked up at his master. “I can’t wait to help you attain this goal.” He dropped his hand to his belt, remembering something. “Master, before we begin, there is something I want to give you.”
He unhooked the sack at his belt, and offered it.
Vorgon extended a shadowy hand that was the size of Malem’s entire body.
Malem deposited the sack into his master’s palm.
“What lies within?” the Balor asked.
“A Light Pearl,” Malem replied.
Exhaling with a hiss, Vorgon hurled the sack far away. “Idiot! Why would you give this to me?”
Malem stepped back in fear. “I only meant to please you! Forgive me, Master!” He knelt and bowed his head.
Vorgon had raised the flaming ax as if to strike, and the blue flames flared across its body. Malem expected death then, welcomed it even, but the Balor got its anger under control a moment later and the flames died down, returning to their normal height.
Vorgon lowered the ax. “I apologize for my words, Defiler. I reacted based on my gut instinct. A Light Pearl is not something you give a Balor.”
“I’m sorry again,” Malem said.
“All is forgiven,” Vorgon said. “You did not know any better. You have done well to reveal this object to me. It may be of use, when other Balors inevitably contest my rule.”
“Thank you,” Malem said. “I love you, Master.”
“And I love you,” Vorgon said. “Which is why I will grant you this final honor. Wedge your sword hilt on the ground, and fall on its blade.”
Malem drew his magic sword without hesitation. Still, despite his external show of obedience, his heart pounded wildly in his chest, and he found it hard to breath.
Was it fear of death that caused this reaction in him?
Or something else?
He placed the hilt on the ground, and wedged it between two slabs of shale, tilting the blade upward. Then he knelt before the weapon.
Strangely, Balethorn was singing savagely. It wanted him more than it wanted any dragon.
Either that, or it was telling him to stop.
Malem smiled fiercely, baring his teeth. “I guess we’ll find out how much you like my throatblood.”
But he could not bring himself to move.
“Fall on the blade,” Vorgon repeated.
“Yes Master,” Malem said.
Don’t do it! Wendolin yelled in his head.
Silent, woman!
He muted her to concentrate on the task at hand. His heart pounded harder, and Balethorn sung even louder.
He stared at the long, metal blade, and the sharp point at its end. All he had to do was throw himself forward, and that blade would end all of this. He would be free finally. Of Vorgon, and all the burdens and weights of the
world. He could leave everything behind.
But what about the women? a part of himself asked. Those you claim to love?
My love for Vorgon overrides all else, another part answered.
But still Malem couldn’t move. He stared at that blade, his heart racketing in his chest.
Why was it so hard to obey his master’s final order?
And then he understood.
The survival instinct.
Of course. As a Breaker, he had firsthand experience of this instinct. He saw it in the monsters and animals he Broke daily.
He had to overcome it.
Had to please his master.
Had to show Vorgon he was more than just some dumb animal, driven by instincts he could not suppress.
I am human. I can do this. I will please Vorgon.
He focused on the blade, held his arms wide, closed his eyes, and—
But he did not throw himself down.
He surprised himself, and instead, for some reason, he unmuted Wendolin.
Breaker! she said.
Fight me, he told her.
He felt the shock emanate from her energy bundle where she was tied to the tree. The confusion.
Fight me, he repeated. Harder than you ever have!
She did as he asked, and resisted his mental hold, wriggling back and forth beneath the vise of his will. He almost drained her of stamina, an instinctive reaction to such struggling, but instead he fed it to her, weakening himself so that she was all the stronger.
He clamped down on her will, trying to subdue her, but she fought even more wildly.
Good, he told her, gritting his teeth. More!
He was growing weak. He reached for Vorgon’s stamina source at his core—
But the Balor was no longer there. Malem’s core was empty. Free.
I can see clearly again. The blindfold has been lifted from my eyes.
But only for a short time.
He half expected Banvil to come seeping forth from the dark recesses of his mind to take root in Vorgon’s absence, but the other Balor did not emerge. Maybe Banvil really was dead. Then again, Malem still felt the energy bundles of his companions—he hadn’t yet severed the link with Vorgon. So Banvil had no path, if the demon yet lived.
Still on his knees, Malem leaned past the tilted blade in front of him and grabbed the hilt, scooping up the weapon as he stood.