by Ben Stovall
Inaru looked over to Tyrdun, his best friend through all these past years, and saw him staring blankly toward the pit. The dwarf whispered under his breath, and only Inaru caught the words: “It’s all going to happen again …” A tear descended his cheek. Inaru felt as though he would collapse beside them all, and wallow in defeat—maybe he’d get a wink of sleep in death, after all. He shoved the thoughts aside with an angry grunt.
“Is that what we’re going to do?” the orc asked, knowing the question was as much to him as the others. “Are we going to sit here in the forest and accept death? The whole of Souhal is depending on us returning, and we’re going to lay down and give in before even trying?”
Ulthan looked to him; tears welled up in his eyes. “Inaru …”
“NO!” The orc shoved the well-intentioned notion away. “This necromancer is truly a fool! A wyvern slain by our own hand is what he chooses to field against us!” Inaru pointed an axe toward the pit. “Down there is a man who does the bidding of dark powers, far greater than we have ever faced. He is their herald, and he twists the honored dead to his will with foul magic. This man seeks to burn down our homes! Souhal and all that lies to the east will fall if he survives us. If it takes my life, if it takes all our lives to tell the world of what comes, I would happily trade them!
“Souhal is my home—I will not see it razed without fighting for it first.” With that, Inaru turned and stepped toward the clearing. He took a couple large strides and heard no movement behind him. Then, a footstep fell in line with his.
“Well, shit,” Tyrdun said bleakly, “I’ve been all over this damned place with ye, s’pose it’s only fitting I see ye ta’ hell too.” The dwarf had a small smile at the edge of his lips, and Inaru returned it with his own. Three more met his pace, Ulthan, Torvaas, and Lytha.
“I do not believe this will be the end of us, Stonehammer,” Ulthan said with a conviction he hadn’t had since he’d returned from the east.
Lytha eyed her crossbow. “Let’s hope for the best,” she muttered.
“You have given me a chance as an equal, and not even my tribe does this—I will stand alongside you this day.” Torvaas closed his eyes and muttered words in a language Inaru didn’t know.
Joravyn hobbled behind them, Ellaria guiding him with a steady hand. “We’re not leaving either,” she said.
“Wouldn’t be the first time I passed out for you louts, eh Spot?” The mage laughed until a coughing fit tore the mirth from him. Finally, Fanrinn moved to catch up to them.
“Try not to get too beaten up, I didn’t bring as many supplies as I’d have liked for something like this,” the elf said, genuinely worried for each of their wellbeing.
They exited the tree line into the clearing, and across the pit stood a man in black plate armor, with a purple cloth covering his chest, and a hood with a pointed end angled above his head, casting his face in shadow. Long grey hair fell from it, a beard of grey reaching his stomach. Purple energies flowed from his hands into the pit below, causing the wyvern’s flesh to melt off it, and the bones slowly turning completely black. The sockets in its skull grew a glowing red, as the skeleton’s eyes had been, but whereas the rib cages had been empty on them, the wyvern’s was instead filled with a swirling purple vortex of energy.
“I was wondering when you would come by,” the man yelled out across the clearing. “I have seen you, as I see all that my skeletal servants do. I hoped only that they would slow you until I was done here—” the man’s arms lowered steadily “—and that has indeed been the case.”
“Fool, do you know how this wyvern was slain?” Inaru shouted, allowing a thin smile to spread across his visage.
The greyed man shrugged in response. “That is of no consequence, orc. You will not defeat it again.” A large wave of purple energy sprung from the harbinger toward them, and they jumped into the pit to avoid it.
They slid down the incline to the bottom where the skeletal wyvern turned to face them. It brought its maw low and roared a terrible screech, wisps of purple energy escaping as it did so. It began charging on its hind legs and flapped its wings as if to take off—the lack of having anything between the bones there made the effort a useless one, and the group managed to dive out of the way. Inaru, Torvaas, Tyrdun, and Lytha dodged to the right, and the others to the left, as it crashed into the wall. Inaru rolled with his momentum, gaining ground, and he sprung at the beast with his axes. They cut deep into a massive leg bone, gouging vicious wounds, bur nothing further. He grunted as he pulled them free with a hard tug. Tyrdun slammed his mighty mace into a rib. Lytha shot a bolt into the skull of the undead beast, lodging it there, but causing no real effect. Torvaas shoved a single dagger deep into a rib bone above Tyrdun, and the dwarf caught on immediately. He brought his mace back and struck the knife’s handle, forcing a crack in the rib, arcane energy spilling from the beast in protest.
On the other side, Ulthan slashed at a bone and missed as the beast shifted. Ellaria and Fanrinn took shots at the beast’s skull as Lytha had, though nothing appeared to happen. Joravyn’s eyes darted to the necromancer. He raised two fingers in his direction. The mage roared as he fired a bolt of lightning at the man on the ridge. It happened in the blink of an eye, and Inaru was unsure he saw it correctly. It had appeared as though the necromancer simply redirected the spell into the air at no harm to himself. Joravyn groaned and dropped to his knees, spent.
The wyvern took notice and turned toward the mage.
“Oh no ye don’t!” Tyrdun shouted, and Inaru remembered the words from when—No. He couldn’t lose focus; this wyvern had to be defeated. Tyrdun slammed his mace into Torvaas’s embedded dagger, and Inaru doubted he could have done so any harder. The dagger went through, the rib shattering to the floor, arcane energy spilling out into the air. It roared in surprised agony, and whirled on Tyrdun, the beast’s tail flinging Inaru aside. The wind was knocked from him as he bounded across the hard stone floor. The orc wheezed and rose to his feet to see Torvaas had been flung away as well. Lytha had gotten away from the beast before he spun, and she was firing bolts at it from a safe distance. Then, Inaru heard the dwarf call out in pain. Tyrdun was being battered by the beast’s skeletal maw, both hands holding his shield for dear life. It smacked against him again, and the shield was cast aside.
“No!” Inaru shouted, charging with his axes. The creature raised his skull high above the dwarf to crush him. Inaru pushed off the ground, leaping into the air, axes in front of him. He slammed them both into a rib, his momentum enough to break them off as he crashed into them. Wild magic blasted out of the wound forcing him back through the air. He clattered to the ground, dropping his axes and skidding some distance with his head throbbing. The purple energy swirled around him, prickling his skin like an army of ants nipping and biting him all over. It grew over him, threatening to cover him completely, and he began to squirm and writhe on the ground in a panic.
“Stay calm! I’ve got you!” Joravyn held Inaru’s shoulders down, and the purple energy flowed into him. The orc saw the skin crack around his fingers, glowing purple marks etching into his hands. The mage released a hoarse groan, gritting his teeth, and the last of it faded from Inaru’s body. Joravyn whirled and released the energy he absorbed toward the necromancer. It slammed into the aged man, forcing him back, and the wyvern seemed to recoil from the blow. Joravyn collapsed into Inaru’s arms. He carried him to Lytha’s rock and sat him up against it.
“Keep him safe, Lytha,” he asked her, his voice a little more desperate than he intended.
“Just … try not to get killed, okay?” she said. He certainly didn’t seek to die here but didn’t waste any breath reassuring her.
Inaru began bounding back toward the melee, picking his axes off the ground as he approached them. He crashed into the wyvern’s leg bone he’d struck at the beginning, axe blades forward. The orc roared as they connected, but they would not break through. He pushed off the beast with a kick, and only one of his
axes came free. Inaru cursed his haste, looking about for the others. Tyrdun had reclaimed his mace and shield both, and he was battering at a rib bone. Ulthan had his large blade out, cutting into the ribs, having already removed two on his own. Fanrinn fired arrows as he made his way around the pit to check on Joravyn. Inaru wasn’t sure how much the shots were affecting the beast, but he saw streaks of the purple energy leaking from some of the puncture wounds that marked the bones. Ellaria was climbing out of the pit to make sure the necromancer didn’t get away. Torvaas struck at the ligaments, trying to sever the bones with his knives.
Inaru squinted; looking over his axe embedded into the bone. He thought himself insane for the idea—
But if it worked …
The orc jumped, his foot catching on the axe’s handle, and he slammed his other axe into the bones ahead, finding purchase. The orc pulled himself up and ripped his one axe out as he managed to secure himself with his legs and arms. The creature shook its leg and whirled, trying to buck Inaru off, but he held tight. A few more good shakes and Inaru felt himself slipping.
Then, Tyrdun caught the beast’s attention and it seemed to forget Inaru was even there. He climbed and balanced himself carefully until he was at the beast’s spine where it connected to the ribs below. He managed to find a disc large enough for him to lie on without a leg dropping into the arcane storm that was the beast’s core, a hand gripping the bone ahead. Inaru lifted his axe high and brought it down on the disc. The creature screeched, the bone buckling slightly. Inaru lifted his axe again, and brought it down harder, the disc cracking a little, but still in place. He bellowed loudly and, releasing his grip, slammed the axe with both of his hands. The bone shattered. Arcane energy shot into the sky from the wound.
Inaru fell off the beast to his side. He tried to grip on to something to slow his descent but found no purchase. He plummeted through the air, the ground racing up to meet him. He was sure he’d break something if not die outright. He heard a pleading shout belonging to Tyrdun, and wished he’d be able to reassure his friend that this wasn’t his fault. Then he felt something halt his descent. He opened his eyes to see he had been caught by a large, ephemeral hand.
Inaru turned to see Joravyn holding an arm outstretched, blood dripping from his fingers. A held breath rushed through the orc’s lips. The hand set him to the ground below, and he ran over to the mage. “Twice in one day—” Joravyn fell into a rough coughing fit squeezing the words out in between the hacking bouts “—you’re losing your touch, Spot.” Inaru hugged the man tightly. “Easy, Spot, easy! You’ll break a bone!” Joravyn laughed loudly at his admittedly lame jest. Even still, it was the best joke the orc had ever heard.
Ellaria reappeared above. “I’ve got the worm!” she called to them, and she pushed the man into the pit. He tumbled, completely lacking grace, and earned a few cuts from the fall.
Torvaas was instantly at his throat and bound him before escorting him over to the others. He pulled his hood down, revealing a pale man with eyes that shone with a dark red, as the skeletal minions he commanded had.
Inaru finally got a better look at the necromancer. His hair fell in wispy strands across his face. Blood was running down his visage, and the way he winced when Torvaas gripped his arm made the orc certain it had taken the brunt of his tumble. His breaths were shallow, and Inaru had seen Joravyn’s exasperation after using his magic enough to know the necromancer was spent. He smirked. “No consequence?”
The man laughed mirthlessly. “Is that how you took it down before?” He almost sounded genuinely curious. Almost.
“Something like that,” Torvaas replied with a wink to Inaru, and he nodded back to the scaleskin. The Torgashin man shook the necromancer and asked, “What is your name?”
“I am called Aldayn, Harbinger of the Dark One.”
Ulthan arched an eyebrow. “You willingly follow something called ‘the Dark One?’”
“He is the only salvation. It is His will that protects us from the way of the world, and it is He who took us in when the beloved light abandoned us,” Aldayn spat.
“The light abandons none. Solustun would never turn his gaze from us.”
“Solustun?” The necromancer laughed loudly. “Your pathetic ‘god’ is not the one of which I speak—if it can even be called so. I speak of the primordial forces of this world, the ancient beings that made the whole of it and all that inhabit it!” Ulthan bristled at the insult but did not rise to it. “In the ancient times, the Dark One shielded us from the harsh elements – the very world itself rose against us, to tear us down, and failed only because of His protection.”
“Then why come east? This Dark One of yours seems to be doing well enough,” Joravyn asked. It was a good question, as the wasteland was large and treacherous, and them here, holding this man as they did, proved that the Gandari Kingdoms would not fall without a fight.
“He has been our bulwark since time immemorial. He has grown old and must rest. The wastes will not allow him, so we must—we MUST—take the east. In this crusade, we work to restore and repay that which has saved us.”
“Then why make war? Surely you thought to ask to come east with peaceful intentions?” Joravyn seemed bewildered.
“You misunderstand. In the Dark One’s care, we have grown large—larger than any of your settlements. We do not come east to rest; we come to stay. You will not accept this. The Dark One knows as much.”
Inaru grunted low, and turned away, taking a few steps. He knew that was correct; the humans were still suspicious of his people—not without reason, of course. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Are you alright?” It was Lytha. Inaru turned to her and looked over to the necromancer. She caught the look. “No, not about that—the wyvern.”
“Oh … I am. Thanks to Joravyn.”
“If Fanrinn hadn’t gotten to him with his … I don’t really know what it was, but it worked, just in time.”
Inaru nodded. His gaze remained aimed at the necromancer, and he could have forgotten Lytha had even been there if she hadn’t spoken again.
“I’m sorry about this, I had no idea it would be so dangerous on this path. I don’t know if I could ever forgive myself if any of you … if any of you had …” Her voice shook slightly.
Inaru eyed her and said, “You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t know it would be like this, you couldn’t have. Better that we were along, or Souhal would be in greater peril than it is.”
Lytha nodded at the words. She looked back toward the assembled others as they argued about something. Inaru was unsure of the subject, but he had an idea.
“Hey, Inaru, come on over here. We need to figure out what to do with this guy,” Tyrdun called.
“On my way,” he replied. Inaru looked them all over.
“We’re at a stalemate. Joravyn, Ellaria, and I think we should take him back to Souhal, to pay for his crimes,” Tyrdun said.
“The rest of us think we’ll be better off with him dead,” Fanrinn said.
Inaru eyed the man. He seemed more exhausted than anything, which was not surprising. It couldn’t have been easy using all that magic, raising skeletons and then a wyvern. Inaru turned to all his friends. Their faces were worn, exhaustion evident. Inaru knew they couldn’t keep track of the necromancer, he would escape them, perhaps harm one of them. They couldn’t take that chance. “He’s too dangerous. We kill him.”
Tyrdun nodded grimly. The dwarf understood Inaru’s reasoning. Ulthan looked to the orc. “Would you like to do it?”
Inaru hesitated, and then he drew his axe. “The Dark One welcomes us all, in death,” the man said solemnly, before he began to cackle. Ulthan pushed his boot onto his back forcing him to lie on his stomach. Inaru lifted his axe above his head and executed the man in one swing. The orc closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, before turning and walking away.
Five
After they’d defeated Aldayn, the adventurers had ascended the pit’s wall
s once more and rested overnight. The day after the encounter with the necromancer was markedly warmer. Lytha found herself folding her cloak and stowing it in her pack, though she knew that within a few days the land would be as cold, if not colder than before. It was nearly dusk now, and they were passing the shrine to Wo’aviik, fallen leaves crunching underfoot.
The members of Red Watch had spoken little since the encounter, the weight of their mission heavy on their spirits. Lytha nearly apologized when they’d stopped for lunch but remained silent. They just need time.
An orange glow cast over the canopy as they entered a large clearing. Ellaria sighed with relief and threw her pack onto the floor. But Ulthan held up a hand and said, “Hold off on setting up camp. Fanrinn, with me.”
The two men disappeared into the brush. Lytha bit her lip in apprehension. She took careful strides to Joravyn’s side and tapped his shoulder lightly. “Where are they going?” she asked.
“We’re near the ogre encampment,” the mage answered.
“They’re looking to see if the beasts came back,” Inaru added. “Could be anywhere. Might be too dangerous to camp here.”
“But,” Ellaria began, “the closest clearing with enough room is hours away—the one with all the Queen’s Bloom.”
“Aye,” Tyrdun said.
Ulthan and Fanrinn pushed back through the overgrowth. The elf spoke, “Tracks. Recent—last few hours. We have to keep moving.”
There was a group-wide sigh, and they continued moving eastward. Lytha found herself trailing behind the group, exhaustion slowing her strides. She felt as though she’d fall over her feet into sleep. She may have, had Tyrdun not begun walking at her side.
“Are ye alright, lass?” he asked.
