The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “We feared the worst,” Lucindur said, joining him.

  “Yeah, yeah, we’re all fine,” Whitney interrupted before anyone said anything else useless. “Perfect. Dandy. Lucy, are you ready to play?”

  “My salfio is right here.” She patted the strap over her shoulder.

  “Well, get it off your back! Nesilia is coming. Right now, she’s—“

  The main Throne Room doors swung open, Whitney spun around so fast he lost his footing and slipped. Torsten appeared in the entry, gripping Salvation, which was as covered with mud and blood as his ever-grim face. And Whitney had never been happier to see him.

  “Finally, someone who might take things seriously!” Whitney said as Tum Tum helped him up.

  “I heard the bells,” Torsten called. “Is it true? Is the warlock dead?”

  “Oh, she’s dead all right,” Whitney answered. “Fried to a crisp and worse. Oh, and Nesilia’s yigging pissed.”

  “She came after us through the crypt,” Sora said. “I—I…” Her head sank. “I collapsed it on her, but it won’t delay her long.”

  “Then we better be ready,” Torsten said, not even missing a beat at the news of his beloved crypt being destroyed.

  “Thank you!” Whitney threw up his hands. “Finally, someone who gets it. Now, Tum Tum, where is the Brike Stone?”

  “I put it down right over there.” Tum Tum pointed to the throne. A cloth covered what Whitney assumed to be the blood-red stone. It sat on the seat of the throne, bathed in an aura of darkness. Around the stone, even the glass of the throne, polished beyond reason, reflected nothing. It was dull, colorless.

  Whitney grasped the dwarf by his collar. “I told you not to let go of it!”

  “We were right next to the thing,” Tum Tum said. “I tried holdin it, but it hurt. Made me start thinkin of things I’d rather not be thinkin bout.”

  A scathing response died on Whitney’s tongue. The dwarf’s expression spoke of horror, and Whitney knew those dark thoughts. He had them every time he touched the stone. Only, they barely affected him because he’d had all those thoughts and worse during a six-year stay in Elsewhere itself.

  “I’ve got it.” Whitney hurried over and snatched it off the throne. Even through the cloth, despair assaulted his brain. Thoughts of losing the battle—of everyone and everything dying. But he’d learned that when the claws of darkness start to dig in, all you can do is smile.

  Across the hall, Torsten barked orders. Soldiers flooded through the front doors, men who looked like Shieldsmen along with the terrifying Shesaitju Serpent Guards. The faceless, tongueless killers were scarier than even the stone in Whitney’s palm.

  “This way, Milady,” Torsten said, ushering Lucindur away from the throne and toward an expanse of gray stone wall farthest from every entrance.

  “Thank you,” she said, flashing a reticent smile as she unfurled a sheet, then kneeled upon it. She strummed her salfio once, finding the perfect tune, and the note resonated all the way up the towering glass spire in the center of the room.

  The soldiers formed ranks all around her, Glassmen and Shesaitju alternating—a force that would make enemies tremble. Everyone except Nesilia that is.

  “Are you okay?” Whitney asked Sora, who remained standing by the throne, staring at it. Was she wondering what could be? Or perhaps, listening to the soft refrain of screams and destruction echoing from beyond the castle walls as thousands laid down their lives to protect this room.

  “Sora?” he whispered.

  She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

  “You’re scared to go into her head,” Whitney said. “Scared of the darkness.” He clasped her hand, the Brike Stone within smothering them in their own shadow as if they were in a tiny room together. “Don’t be. Embrace it. Show her she’s nothing compared to you. Because, you know what? She isn’t. You’re Sora of Troborough, daughter of kings and mystics, and the woman who stole the heart of the World’s Greatest Thief.”

  He flashed her a grin, and Sora threw her arms around him, pressing her lips against his. The Brike Stone showed Whitney images of her death over and over again as they touched, but he didn’t let go, because he knew there was no way in Elsewhere he’d ever let that happen.

  “If ye two lovebirds don’t mind!” Tum Tum called, barely visible through the wall of soldiers save for his oversized hammer.

  “Right,” Sora said with vim and resolve that Whitney hoped meant she really was ready. It’s not like the entire future of the world was resting on her shoulders or anything.

  They rushed through the soldiers, and Sora sat directly across from Lucindur and Tum Tum, who stood guard beside her. Whitney drew his daggers and stood by her side.

  “It ends today,” Torsten said, unwavering.

  “One way or another,” Whitney added.

  Torsten nodded to Whitney and all the others, then moved to the front of the formation. And then, there was eerie quiet. The kind that made Whitney itch and want to say something uncomfortable as if by reflex. Only, in the face of what was coming, he couldn’t.

  Death wails sounded like Elsewhere’s wind coming from every direction outside of the room. Each time, making Whitney’s muscles tense.

  A high-pitched screech nearly made him shog himself until he realized it was only Aquira bursting through a stained glass window high above. She landed upon Sora’s shoulder, squawking again as Sora scratched her chin.

  Something crashed through the door just outside the Throne Room, the one leading toward the dungeons where Nesilia would be soon following. There were more cries, then, seconds later, none.

  “Lucy,” Whitney managed to force through trembling lips. “I think it’s time to start.”

  “I—I agree.” She strummed a chord. “Relax your mind, Sora. Let the music flow over you, through you.”

  The door blew off its hinges, a body bursting through and sliding across the marble. The white-haired form of Nesilia’s upyr body crouched over it, twisting the corpse’s neck at an unnatural angle as she drank from its throat.

  “I’m beginning to enjoy the taste of your people,” she said, her voice swirling about the Throne Room like a serpent’s hiss. “Perhaps I’ll keep some around. Enjoy feasts right in this hall like your corrupt Kings.”

  She let the body fall with a clank, then licked her lips as she sauntered forward. “This is something beautiful, isn’t it?”

  She looked upward toward the painted ceiling.

  “Except that,” she said, pointing. “Iam casting down some hideous beast to the depths of the mountain. Who developed this depiction of me?”

  Whitney recalled the murals upon the walls in Redstar’s ruins—the first time he’d seen the Buried Goddess represented as anything other than a monster.

  “And Iam,” she laughed. “Of course, he would be nothing but a blinding light to your people. You worship a god without even caring what he looks like?”

  She shook her head and focused on those assembled in the room. No one spoke.

  “Look at all of you. Gathered here to die.” Her gaze snapped toward Sora. “I’m so disappointed in you. Did you think it poetic? Burying me?”

  “I thought it was what you deserved,” Sora said.

  “Perhaps,” she said. Her face went rigid, and she rushed across the room with blinding speed.

  “Now!” Torsten thundered.

  Lucindur’s fingers started to pluck, sounds like the ocean washing across a beach. Pleasant and harmonious in a moment when chaos and suffering ruled. Whitney watched as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, wondering if he, too, looked like that when he went under the Lightmancer’s spell.

  Nesilia fell to one knee, grasping at her head within meters of the guards surrounding Sora. Her upyr speed would have had them all cut to pieces in no time, but Sora’s connection seemed to be enough to slow her.

  “Fools,” Nesilia growled. “Attempting this pathetic move again? It won’t work.”

 
Torsten glanced back at Whitney. “When you see the opening, get that stone in her hands.”

  “I’m really better at taking gems out of hands,” Whitney replied.

  “Now, isn’t the time. Take her!”

  Torsten brandished his claymore, and together with the Shieldsmen and Serpent Guards, they charged. Nesilia may have been hampered by the magic, but she still wasn’t completely useless. She drew Sigrid’s own Breklian knives and sprang to action.

  She deflected and stabbed, mowing through the guards one at a time. It may not have been with lightning speed, but still, other than Kazimir, it was unlike anything Whitney had ever witnessed. She couldn’t be hit.

  Her shoulder collided with a Glass soldier’s knee, toppling him. As he fell, she gashed his throat while, at the same time, ducking under Torsten’s mighty swing, bending backward in a manner that seemed impossible while sliding forward. As she twisted, she flung a knife at Lucindur, still seated. But Tum Tum had guessed right and jumped. It caught him in the leg with enough force to hurl him, spinning against the wall as if he’d been hit by a catapult.

  “Tum Tum!” Whitney screamed. He clutched his silver daggers and went to join the slaughter when a deafening crash above sent him diving, hands over his head. Glass throughout the spire shattered, raining down like sharp, deadly hail.

  A wave of grimaurs flowed through, flocking down in a tornado of talons and screeching. Whitney knew why. As always, Lucindur’s power drew them, and he abandoned his charge to rush back to her. Aquira darted up, blowing flame to keep them at bay, but there were so many. They spread around her blast, others diving at her, sending her fleeing.

  “Defend the Lightmancer!” Torsten ordered right before Nesilia caught him in the chest with an elbow. His chestplate cracked, and he flew back against the Glass Throne, causing a crack right up the center. Nesilia attempted to advance but was stalled by Lucindur’s magic once again, staggering back with her hand over her temple.

  “Is this all you have, Sora?” Nesilia said, eyes and lips twitching as they shared an unheard conversation. “A tired-out old trick that barely worked the first time? Maybe I was wrong about you. You are weak. Sigrid wants this at badly as I do. All she has known is suffering, thanks to this castle. We will bring it crumbling down!”

  A Serpent Guard stabbed at her, but Nesilia recovered quickly and caught the blade between her hands. She broke the shaft, took the spear herself, and skewered three guards with it.

  Before Whitney could see any more, a group of soldiers closed in around Sora and Lucindur, creating a shell of shields. Grimaurs pounded against the steel like thunder, a storm all around them. Talons broke through and incapacitated some, but more guards with shields filled in. Eventually, they’d run out.

  Whitney glanced at Sora, her eyes twitching, chest heaving. She was no longer at peace under the spell but struggling. Nesilia was fighting back, almost like she’d expected this feeble attack. Maybe she did. Maybe, she’d wanted to gather all their leaders, all those who’d wronged her, like pigs for the slaughter.

  Hitting the floor, Whitney crawled through the legs of the guards. A grimaur squawked at him, snapping its razor-sharp beak. He rolled away from it, and someone stepped on its wing. It turned to free itself, and Whitney stabbed it through the eye, then emerged into the torrent.

  Tum Tum had roused now. “Die ye foul beasts!” he bellowed as he leaped, swinging his hammer like a madman.

  Whitney sliced a wing. Then a tail. Then, one grimaur smashed into his side. He fell back, grasping one of their ankles to keep talons from stabbing into his face. A violent blast of flame incinerated the thing’s head, scorching Whitney’s brow and hair. He turned over to avoid the heat, and things went suddenly dark. It only took a moment to realize the Brike Stone had fallen from his pocket.

  He scampered to grab it. A grimaur plunged for it as well. The moment before either could grab it, however, Aquira zipped by and scooped it up. The grimaur crashed into the floor at full speed, its neck snapping.

  “Nice one, Aquira!” Whitney cheered. He popped up, ready to keep fighting, but Aquira made a sound he’d never heard—a curdling squeal from deep in her gut that sounded more pained than proud.

  She sputtered across the room, a ball of darkness and fire swirled together like a precious orb. She hit the wall, flapped a few times, and without the Brike Stone in his hand, forcing him to very dark thoughts, Whitney came up with them on his own. They hit him much harder.

  “Is that the toy you brought to stick me in this time?” Nesilia asked as she snapped the neck of a Shieldsman with a sharp twist.

  Grimaurs suddenly swarmed Aquira, only, they couldn’t get close. Fire spewed out from the wyvern, not only from her mouth but all over. Vicious, violent pillars poured from her, burning through walls, singeing columns, melting glass.

  Whitney couldn’t believe his eyes. With the Brike Stone in hand, Aquira wasn’t oppressed by sorrow but transformed. The form of an elemental dragon entirely made of fire broke free. Where her heart would be, the Brike Stone pulsed blood red as she now swept across the room, reducing a whole cluster of grimaurs to ash.

  “The heart of a dragon,” Tum Tum whispered, extending his hand to catch the ash of the very beasts he’d been battling.

  Whitney marveled as the elemental beast that was Aquira circled up the spire, melting the hide and feathers from grimaurs as well as the debris falling from the devastated spire.

  “Aquira, you clever girl!” he exclaimed.

  He whipped around to face Nesilia. Many of the guards had the same thought. This was their opening. Whitney charged at her, and by then, Torsten had recovered to join him.

  “Perhaps, you should have spared your sister,” Torsten taunted. “Your arrogance will be your undoing.”

  Nesilia licked her bloody lips. “No. More fun for me.”

  Whitney swiped at her, met only air. In that brief moment, as he came around again, two guards were collapsing to the ground, dead by her hand. Torsten swung as well, a downward slash. She flipped back, landing behind a Serpent Guard and sinking her fangs into his throat before tearing it out.

  “Do you hear the sounds outside these walls?” she asked as she dodged and blocked with ease. “That’s Iam’s Kingdom meeting its inevitable end. How many times will all of you fail? Iam needed new heroes.”

  Torsten missed an attack. Whitney timed it perfectly—they were best friends after all—and slid in low as a Serpent Guard also stabbed. Nesilia dipped back, below Whitney’s swiping dagger, causing him to just barely shave her side. The skin steamed as silver made contact.

  She whipped around, bearing her fangs in a feral hiss as she seized Whitney by the throat. His airway closed in an instant as her knife sank toward Whitney’s eye. This wasn’t the way he’d planned to die, but he’d take it. Nesilia’s rage toward he-who-stole-Sora-from-her drew her focus.

  The knife, however, stopped a fingernail’s length from him. His heart stopped. Her hand shook. She winced and grimaced.

  “Get. Out. Of. My. Head!” Nesilia screamed.

  More glass from the spire shattered but turned to droplets of slag by Aquira’s fire. A loud, misplayed chord sounded from Lucindur’s salfio before a wave of energy from the instrument broke the connection between her and Sora. Both barely clung to consciousness. The shockwave sent Whitney flying back out of Nesilia’s grasp. White spots danced across his vision. Guards fell too.

  Torsten alone, however, was large enough to withstand the blast. His claymore raced toward Nesilia’s head. But with Lucindur’s spell broken, the full extent of powers returned. She dodged it with no room to spare, grabbed Torsten’s arm on the downswing, and snapped the bone, even through his armor.

  Salvation fell free, and as it clattered on the floor, she stomped on the blade with her heel, breaking it in two. A second blazing-fast move sent a kick into Torsten’s midsection, and he was sent rolling across the room into a column.

  “Is that all?” she asked, laughin
g. “All the great heroes of Pantego, this was all you could muster against me? How pathetic.” Guards closed in around her one second and the next, all were on the ground, grasping at bleeding throats while she crouched between them, fresh blood upon her teeth and nails.

  Aquira roared. Any other time, the sound would have made Whitney proud. She blasted the last grimaur out of the way, and her fiery form dove toward Nesilia. A single flick of a knife and it struck the Brike Stone, knocking it away. The elemental dragon broke apart, and from it fell Aquira, one of her wings torn. She slammed the floor and slid to Tum Tum’s feet. The dwarf bent and lifted her into an embrace. He sucked in through his teeth. Smoke billowed off Aquira’s flesh. She must have still been hot, but to the dwarf’s credit, he didn’t let her go. The Brike Stone landed near Lucindur without bouncing, far heavier than it appeared. Light flickered and began to draw itself toward the stone.

  Nesilia clicked her tongue. “I’m so disappointed. I saw so much potential here. A part of me thought that, perhaps, some of you might stick around to forge this new world at my side.”

  “We’d… never… join… you,” Sora moaned, barely able to pick herself up.

  “Oh really? Then where is beautiful young Mahraveh?”

  “She’s destroying your uncaged beasts,” Torsten moaned. His first attempt to stand failed.

  “Is she?” Nesilia cackled. A guard charged her, and she caved in his chest with a single blow. “She and I had a nice chat before this. If I had to gamble, she’s already turned against you, slaughtering all of your precious followers in my name.” She closed her eyes, lower lip quivering with ecstasy. “Yes. She will be a worthy servant. Unlike you!”

  Whitney lunged from the ground, but he was too far away. The few guards remaining around Sora and Nesilia were killed in an instant. Then Nesilia stood right in front of Whitney, Sora on her knees before her.

  “I learned a bit about this body,” Nesilia said, addressing Whitney directly. “It is said that the blood of a mystic empowers it beyond belief. And well… my sister’s ghastly body hadn’t enough power to offer much. Sora is a true mystic now, isn’t she?”