“You son of a shog-eating shrew!” Whitney yelled, charging at Uriah. “She was in there waiting for me!”
Bliss swept her legs down and knocked the dagger from Whitney’s hand. It skidded across the ground toward Torsten.
“How dare you think you could escape!” Bliss roared, anger emanating from her like white hot heat. She stretched down from her vantage and met him face to face.
“Yig!” he yelped as he tripped backward. He scrambled away until he bumped into Torsten’s leg.
“Are you blind!” Torsten lifted Whitney to his feet and shoved his dagger into his gut. Then he pushed him right back down into a crouch as two of Bliss' arms zipped over their heads.
It was a kill shot.
Whatever Whitney had done to anger her, she wasn’t toying anymore. He had a knack for enraging others, and while missing his opportunity to catch Bliss unawares was the stupidest thing he could do, riling her was a close runner-up.
“Torsten,” Uriah bellowed, “we aren’t going to be able to hold these things back much longer!”
Torsten peered over his shoulder and saw Uriah and Sora still fending off the spiders. They looked exhausted, clothes bloody and tattered.
“Hang in there, Sora!” Whitney called.
“Whit?” she replied. “You’re alive!”
“Yeah, I’m here to save the day.”
Torsten didn’t hear her response if there’d been one. Bliss extended her back end and spouted out a stream of sticky webbing. He scarcely avoided getting hit by it.
“Keep her busy,” Torsten told Whitney.
“Keep her wha—” He dove out of the way of another of Bliss' legs.
While the goddess was occupied trying to impale Whitney, Torsten decided to change his strategy. He carved a bloody swathe toward Uriah and Sora. He swatted an arachnid the size of a wagon-wheel, then slashed one off Sora’s back.
He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to the path he’d opened through the beasts. Her breathing was labored from using so much blood magic.
“We need to take her together,” he said. “Find whatever strength is left in you. Uriah, it’s time to finish what you started.”
Now together, Torsten and Uriah fought their way back to Whitney. They let Sora stay in front, as she was so weak she could barely lift her knife. Ahead, Whitney dropped to the dirt under Bliss' leg and rolled out of the way of another. As he came to a stop, a third leg crashed toward his head.
Torsten reached him just in time and deflected the blow. He dragged Whitney back as another slashed the dirt between his legs, then lifted him again.
“It’s like fighting someone with eight swords,” Whitney complained.
The four of them now stood side by side, Sora leaning on Whitney like a crutch. Bliss stretched out before them, purple eyes fuming with rage. The patter of her largest children closing in behind them grew louder and louder.
“Can we run yet?” Whitney asked.
“No. We hit her in the heart or the head,” Torsten said.
The spider queen rushed once more. Torsten and Whitney both thrust their blades, barely nicking her armored underbelly but both taking hits from her spiny legs. They landed on their backs, hard, but recovered fast to charge back at her. Sora was on her knees, struggling to raise her knife and make another cut so she could help. Out of the corner of his eye, Torsten saw Uriah take her hand and place it aside.
“No. This must end now.” Uriah used her knife to slice both of his palms. Then he dropped to the ground, crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and clasped his bloody hands together.
“What are you doing!” Torsten questioned.
“I didn’t know we could take breaks,” Whitney said, panting hard before he was forced to duck under another massive leg. A second one caught him from the other direction and sent him flying into the wall of the cave.
“Whitney!” Sora rasped and stumbled.
Uriah began muttering under his breath in Drav Crava. A swirling cloud of black smoke rose around him, and a bright red light glowed as if he himself were a beacon.
“What is this, Uriah?” Torsten questioned.
Uriah didn’t answer, but he began to levitate.
“Uriah!” Torsten shouted.
Bliss' expression revealed concern for the very first time.
“This will not work,” Bliss spat, venom lacing her words.
“Torsten, ready your blade.” Uriah’s voice was… different. It carried on the air, surrounding them like Bliss' had.
Torsten lifted his claymore. Bliss was so distracted by Uriah that there would be no better chance. She lashed out at Uriah’s floating body, but the black smoke swirled around her limbs, holding them in place and exposing her human half.
“Strike her, now!” Uriah shouted.
Torsten bounded forward and slashed, drawing a deep gash along her belly. Half a dozen spiders promptly tore their way through the bloody hole and leaped at him. One bit down on his bare hand.
Whitney came too and rushed to Torsten, hacking at the spiders with his dagger. There were too many. A small fireball raced by, pathetic compared to Sora’s usual magic, but enough to hit several of them at once. They shrieked in pain as they shriveled. “My babies!” Bliss writhed, her spider legs struggling to hold her belly together.
“Again!” Uriah called. “I cannot hold this much longer!”
Torsten lunged, this time plunging the sword all the way through. Her legs battered him, but he stood firm, drove deeper, and twisted his blade. Black blood poured out, coating his arms and flooding down his torso.
She stopped fighting and pulled him in closer until her gorgeous face was his whole world. Torsten remembered what happened to the dire wolf when she blew on him. He closed his eyes, preparing for her to drag him into death with her when Uriah’s blade joined his in her chest. The former Wearer of White had descended and now stood at his side, flaying her wide. That same black mist swirled around his hands and exuded from his mouth.
Bliss' scream shook the earth beneath their feet as she lurched. She pushed them away, and the blades slid out. Blood gushed from her like a castle fount as her legs fumbled for traction.
“Fools!” she bellowed. “I will slaughter every last one of you. I will devour your children. Even Iam could not destroy—”
Torsten roared and swung his sword with all his might, spinning as he did, and cleaved her neck mid-sentence. Her legs crumpled, and her head teetered before tumbling down along with them. The forest hushed when it came to a stop. Then an ear-piercing cry echoed all around them. The children, mourning the loss of their mother. It was sharp and sudden and gone just as quickly. Then they all scattered into the trees.
“That’s right, you better run!” Whitney hollered.
Torsten looked around. Sora was spent, barely able to stand. Whitney’s filthy clothes were drenched in blood and he, like Torsten, was covered in bruises.
The only sounds in the darkness were sharp, labored breaths, the crackling of the dying flames at their backs, and the sizzle of black magic surrounding Uriah.
XXXII
THE THIEF
“Congratulations, old friend,” Uriah said. “You have slain even what your God could not. The One Who Remains is no more.”
Whitney stared at Uriah as the black cloud surrounding him dissipated. He stretched his arms and drew a calming breath as if everything was fine. It was then that Whitney remembered what had happened and his blood started to boil.
“You used me as bait!” Whitney shouted. He jumped at the old man and pointed his dagger at his throat.
“Put the blade down, Whitney,” Torsten said.
“Why? He used me so we’d have no choice but to fight his monster. Your men didn’t draw her away, did they? This was all to get us to distract her so that you could do... that. Whatever the shog that was.”
The old man merely smiled, wrinkles splaying at the corners of his lips.
“Is that true, Uriah?” Torsten said.
“Of course, it is!” Whitney growled. “Bliss was waiting to drain me.” The thought made him shiver. “Do you know what it’s like down there?”
“I knew something was off,” Sora said softly, still on one knee struggling to catch her breath, exhausted from using magic.
“I ought to make you go down there and lay with the corpses!”
“Whitney, stop!” Torsten bellowed. “Uriah, is it true?”
The old man sighed. “I did what was needed to rid this world of great evil. The potential sacrifice of one man does not compare to what we have accomplished here together.”
“I’ll give you sacrifice.” Whitney went to hit him, but Uriah was too smooth. In a flash, he had Whitney disarmed and his arm wrenched behind his back.
“Please,” Uriah said. “I do tire of all this arguing.” He shoved Whitney into Torsten.
“I trusted you,” Torsten said, holding Whitney back.
“And your trust was not misplaced. Look.” He gestured to all the carnage around them. Bliss' corpse plugged the entrance to her lair, legs tossed haphazardly like a marionette on the strings of a puppeteer. The bodies of her children covered so much of the surrounding area that the forest floor could no longer be seen. “We have victory. Who cares what it took to achieve it. Didn’t Liam teach you that in all his bloody conquests?”
“We?” Torsten said. “That spell, whatever you did. You didn’t need us.”
“Oh, but I did.”
“I’ve never seen magic like it,” Sora added. “Not even from Wetzel.”
“What happened to you?” Torsten asked.
“I called upon the gifts of my goddess,” Uriah said. “You too could be teeming in her power, if only you’d see the truth about the beings we worship.”
“You were a servant of Iam! You believed in him even more strongly than I.”
“Whatever he did, it did save our lives, oh holy one,” Whitney remarked. Torsten glared at him. “What! The guy sent me to die. If anyone should be mad, it’s me.”
“Stop being so stubborn and listen,” Uriah said. "Nesilia, Iam, together, after all these countless years, we faithful have brought their enemy to her bitter end.”
“Together we have done nothing,” Torsten snapped.
“Do you not remember the song, old friend?”
“Again with songs of fancy and fantasy?” Whitney said.
Biding her time, her pain like a flood
Alone in the darkness, she longs for the blood
In the name of the Lady, in the name of the Lord
Shall settle it all with power and sword
Then she will arise, in glorious day
Through will and through fire, her enemies slain
Forgotten, abandoned, but no longer bound
From Elsewhere and exile, she’ll receive her crown
“Riddles and nonsense,” Torsten said.
“How do you not feel it?” Uriah said, looking to the sky and closing his eyes. “Their union, deep in your soul like a… like a mounting storm.”
“You guys both sound insane,” Whitney said. Of course, nobody paid him any attention. He was getting used to it.
“Do not make me a party to your heathen worship of the Buried Goddess,” Torsten said. “It was Iam who guided my blade. You may have tricked us into helping you, but we are done now. We will find King Pi’s orepul, and then you will return to Yarrington and answer for your sins.”
“You cannot deny what happened here!” Uriah roared, his calm façade slipping.
It was then that Whitney realized how foolish he was for charging the former Wearer of White.
He just called on shadows to kill a goddess, you idiot.
“Why don’t we just let him leave,” Whitney said. “I have the damn doll anyway. We can all go on our merry way.” He removed the orepul he’d found in Bliss' lair from his belt and held it up.
Torsten and Uriah grabbed it at the same time, their hands covered in Bliss' black blood, so much that it soaked the poor doll’s crude face through.
“Hey!” Whitney ripped it back and patted the head before he stored it back underneath his belt. “Didn’t either of you ever learn to share?”
“Where did you find that?” Torsten asked.
“In the big chamber he sent me into with the… you know, spider webs and dead bodies.”
“So Redstar really is dead,” Torsten said. It was not a question.
Whitney shrugged. “I suppose. There was a body holding it. Well, it used to be a body. It was really just a pile of white armor and crumbling bones. Like yours, see.” He raised his forearm to show off the gauntlets he’d taken.
Torsten’s eyes went wide. “Those are glaruium gauntlets,” he said. He clutched Whitney’s arm and pulled it close. “Where did you find these?”
“They’re yours if you want them. I figured it was the least I could do after I… uh… damaged yours back in the ruins.”
There was silence.
“Really, that was his fault,” Whitney went on, pointing to Uriah.
“You found these in the same place as the doll?” Torsten asked.
“Yeah, cradled right in these things like it was a baby.”
Torsten’s eyebrows rose slowly and his gaze leveled on Uriah. Whitney did the same.
“The lion’s head?” Torsten said.
A smirk played at the corners of the old man’s lips. He clicked with his tongue and shook his head. “This could have been a smooth transaction. In and out. Both our needs fulfilled. You got the orepul and I… I get what she asked of me.”
“What is going on?” Whitney asked.
“Watch out!” Sora suddenly sprawled in front of them with her hand raised as if to block something. When nothing happened, she glanced up with her weary eyes and said, “I felt…”
Uriah snapped his fingers. Whitney winced, then, when he looked again, Uriah was gone. Where he had just been standing, a pale, gangly man now stood. The scarred, left side of his face was covered by a deep red, almost crimson birthmark with a few points stretching over his forehead and nose.
Whitney was dumbfounded. Sora froze in her place.
“It’s you,” Torsten said softly. “You son of a—” He lunged at him, but the man sliced his palm on his sword and raised the hand. Torsten went stiff.
The man waved his arm aside and sent Torsten slamming hard into the cavern’s outer wall, his head cracking against the stone.
Whitney lifted his hands in surrender. He was no fool. Torsten hadn’t told him a thing about what Redstar looked like, but a birthmark like the one this man had made it pretty obvious. And anyone who could use magic to change their appearance like that was a warlock not worth messing with.
“Hey, man. Listen, we’re friends, right?” Whitney said. “You sent me to my doom, no sweat. This really has nothing to do with me.” He nodded to the doll. “You want this? Fine, no skin off my bones.”
“You really think this was all about the orepul?” Redstar said. Even his voice changed. It was stronger, more dignified.
“Don’t, Whitney,” Torsten groaned as he struggled to recover. “He is behind everything. He’ll never let you leave alive.”
“Unfortunately, he’s right about that.”
Redstar raised his bloody hand, but so did Sora. She stood tall in front of Whitney and fire erupted from her own newly bleeding hand. Redstar didn’t even bother moving. As the ball of fire leaped from her palm, he snapped his fingers. The flame turned to ice mid-flight, then fell to the ground and shattered. He then extended a hand toward both Whitney and Sora and threw them into the same wall as Torsten.
They all lay in a heap, staring at Redstar. Whitney felt a new level of fear that even Bliss didn’t instill in him. She needed a leg to throw him across the room, but Redstar didn’t even need to touch him.
Torsten drew himself up. “Redstar, I am here under the command of your sister, the Queen Regent. Stop this madness.”
“She’s not m
y ruler!” he shouted. “I came to her a year ago. Begged her to see the truth of what lived in these Woods and to help us destroy it. She treated me as a stranger—worse than a stranger. The sister who I witnessed being ripped from our home and forced to the Glass Kingdom died that day in Drav Cra. Your King defiled her.”
“So, you cursed a child?” Torsten spat. “We can talk with her. Reason with her.”
“I will not waste any more time with her. My faith belongs to another Lady; one who holds real power. My goddess will soon return with a vengeance, and it’s all thanks to you.”
“Me?” Torsten stomped forward, but Redstar flexed his hand again and shoved him back down.
“Didn’t you pay attention to anything I’ve been telling you?” Redstar asked. “‘One of the Lady and one of the Lord.’”
“We all heard your dumb song,” Whitney said.
“Only true believers of Iam and Nesilia, together, could truly vanquish Bliss and undo what she has done. And your faith was proven so predictably at the ruins. Now, Torsten, she will rise again. No longer forgotten!”
“Not on my watch,” Torsten declared. “Not in the Glass.”
“If only that were up to you. I no longer need you or these filthy little creatures you find company with.”
Behind him, three of his masked cultists appeared, only they weren’t wearing masks any longer. Their faces were pale, black painted across the top halves with thin lines of red around their eyes. They had all the features of men from the Drav Cra tundra, not Glassmen. They were, all of them, real warlocks pretending to be cultists.
“Drad Redstar, Arch Warlock of Nesilia, condemns you each to death,” they said in perfect unison. “May the dirt take you.”
One waved his hand and Whitney went flying. Another did the same to Torsten. Redstar raised his hand in Sora’s direction, and with it, she floated, pushed hard against the rock wall. She groaned in agony as her back was crushed.
The Redstar Rising Trilogy Page 30