The red glow suddenly ceased, prompting Dech to slide his arm into the enarmes on the inner surface of his shield. Standing, he saw the body of Olk Mirkness come to its feet. The brown robe hung in charred tatters from his shoulders and arms exposing gnarled dark grey and black skin. Whether from the long past fight with the abbess or Laerdavile’s repurposing the corpse, it was missing its toes and sex organs.
Dech moved quickly down the incline to confront the avatar. looking to his left, he saw his comrades stood ready.
The corpse turned and looked at Dech. “You used a device I know well,” it said in a voice that was mostly that of Olk Mirkness. “Its magic told me what it was. Used in a crusade on this plane in your past. Once there were dozens of them and those that carried them died ending the crusade.” the monster laughed. “You have but one, mortal and it is now broken.”
Pointing and canting its head, it laughed again. “The arm you used before is useless now. Broken, as you shall be soon enough. Mere steel is not sufficient,” it said.
Dech looked at the sky above the tower and saw the flying creatures heading south.
“Yes, mortal, they fly,” Laerdavile said. Despite appearing like the grandmage, the voice was no longer that of Olk Mirkness.
“Are you sure they’ll do as you wish?” Dech taunted. “A considerable amount favored Mirkness over you.”
“I once again control those who turned against me,” Laerdavile said in an angry tone.
“You may need them here,” Dech said hoping to draw the monsters away from Harold’s army.
The Lord of the Vile laughed. “I think not. It took vast armies to defeat me in the last crusades. Me alone. No, my recovered minions know their rebellion has ended. They know their place. They will soften the mortal forces in an act of repentance to me. That is why I unleash those I brought with me now. They will reap. The sibling lordlings that fight? They will be consumed along with their followers.”
“It may not be as easy as you think,” Dech said. “You must survive this fight first.”
Not waiting for a retort, Dech charged on the attack.
Infernal casting dueled with knightly skill and steel augmented by enchantment with neither gaining an advantage until a forceful sign cast by the avatar sent Dech rolling across the planks.
“The only weapon you had that could harm me is destroyed. Mere spells will not stop me. Mere steel will not either.”
An arrow struck Laerdavile in the face.
“We’ll see about that,” Dissy yelled as Dech pulled himself upright and the Lord of the Vile growled in pain.
. . .
Like a great flock of blackbirds, a flurry of winged creatures descended into the trees north of the battle, thousands of them. Those at the northern wing of the battle who noticed took pause and word spread across the field at the speed of rumor.
Even with the obvious threat the infernals presented, others were more concerned with the dynamic changes to the rip in the sky.
Malig himself took time and watched the spectacle. Wondering what transpired, he drew the amulet from a pouch and called for Mirkness several times before giving up. Not knowing the creatures intent was something he found most irritating, but he put it aside. He had a throne to reclaim.
. . .
With the Font of Glaes under attack, nearly every mage aware of the threat and capable of projecting their self to the Flint Plane did so. These people laid, knelt, or sat in a trance-like state, their bodies on the Mortal Plane, their selves at the Font.
Those watching over these mages’ physical bodies soon found it was a lethal fight, as some of those entranced fell over dead, their bodies intact but suddenly devoid of life. These mages’ remains were carried to the rows of the dead and placed in dignified poses alongside those who succumbed to wounds incurred on the battlefield in Arataine.
. . .
The six battling the avatar of the Lord of the Vile found the same tactics they used against its previous manifestation also worked against the current, though the avatar proved to heal faster.
The avatar had managed to increase its size over the short course of their battle and Dealan and Granum knew the avatar’s ability to draw and cast was greater than theirs. With limits to how long they could cast, they knew it was imperative to strike hard and fast.
The Lord of the Vile realized it faced a legitimate threat from the group of mortals, proven by their wounding of its projected body. The avatar was different though. Possessed by Laerdavile, its physical presence was far more formidable. Needing time to gather energy for growth, these mortals had managed to stunt the process, a situation it found maddening.
The knight was savage, determined, and as skilled as any it had ever encountered, but one mortal man was not a lethal menace. The other non-mages were not as great a threat individually as the man in armor, but combined they proved dangerous as well. Arrows and bolts pierced its hide every time it dropped defenses to cast attacks, often spoiling them completely. Rocks hurled by the small and nimble man struck its eyes with vexing accuracy, at one point blinding Laerdavile. The other man had ceased launching bolts and had begun playing some form of religious adjurations, an effective tactic used against the Lord of the Vile in past Dark Crusades. Combined, the damage done required healing and until he could repair the damage done, no more growth could occur.
The two mages were the true threat though, of that Laerdavile was sure. The fiery woman in particular was able to fend off infernal magics like few it had ever seen and her offensive spells combined with the strange old human’s preparatory casts left him little time to heal let alone increase its presence.
Confident it knew how to end this fight swiftly, the Lord of the Vile took what it viewed as a moderate risk and threw much effort and energy into a planned attack.
. . .
Dech closed with the avatar once again. Losing count how many times he had attacked, his knowledge of the avatar’s physical abilities grew with each exchange. Having marshaled his reserves and suffered no more than a few bumps and bruises, the warder knew he could continue for some time. Based on how things were proceeding, Dech was sure they were in for a long slog.
The avatar’s bar field was proof against Dech’s sword strikes, but each one stressed the field and therefore the avatar. Inevitably, Laerdavile would focus on the warder. With him at close quarters, the avatar needed him cleared away to cast most spells. This inevitably led to Dech being knocked down or pushed away. It also brought grief from those behind the low stone wall when the avatar did go on the attack.
As before, Dech brought powerful cuts against the bar field, his shield held up in defense. Thus far the wood and leather device had held up surprisingly well, the mages’ enchantments a large part of it.
The air within the tower carried notes from Mayhap’s lute. Strange and piercing sounds Dech had never heard played by the man. When the bard had fired his last bolt, the lute came in to play, literally. Harsh and fast, the music had a driving quality. Over the noise of the fight Erie had screamed, “What in all of creation is that?”
Laughing joyfully, Mayhaps replied, “Something I learned to play years ago, divine exorcisms. Do not ask why.”
“That isn’t music, it is racket,” Granum had yelled.
Fast-paced and requiring precision on the part of Mayhaps, the music had an obvious and detrimental effect on the Lord of the Vile and he played without stop.
Knowing the avatar was about to cast a sign that would likely take him off his feet, Dech braced himself and delivered a powerful horizontal strike against the bar field.
Throwing an arm forward as he lifted the bar, Laerdavile sent the warder tumbling and sliding.
Anticipating this, the attack from the others were on their way before Dech was fully clear. An arrow from Dissy’s bow lodged in the avatar’s throat, a rock bounded off its face followed by frost spells that staggered the monster.
Raising its arms, it threw them toward Dealan, the ice becoming steam as a gre
y cloud issued forth and spouted hellish pyroclastic nuggets of matter, smoke trailing from them as they crossed the space within the tower and smashed through the wall where Dealan sought cover.
Pitching her across the stone floor, Granum swiftly cast a bar field as the glowing hot projectiles continued to come.
Josip scrambled to pull Dealan to cover while Granum held the bar, but the infernal assault was beyond the old scholar’s capacity. Taxed beyond his endurance, the bar field came down as Granum cried out in anguish. One of the scorching projectiles struck Erie hard in the side and brought him to his knees. With the last of his strength, he pulled the abbess behind the remaining part of the wall before he collapsed.
By now, Dech was back on his feet and charged again. Rolling to avoid a sign cast at him, he closed to sword-fighting distance and chopped a large hunk from Laerdavile’s left arm before the monster raised a bar field.
While Dech took the fight to the monster, Granum saw to Dealan. Her clothing was pocked with burnt spots which smoked with the scent of the infernal. Placing his hands on her exposed skin, he sought to determine how badly she was hurt.
“Adelbert, do not waste time. I cannot cast any longer… here at least,” she said as she rolled onto her back. “I can help defend the Font of Glaes though. My self is intact.”
“You will project to the Flint Plane?” Granum asked knowing the answer.
“Yes.”
“Go then, lady. I will attempt to heal your wounds when possible.”
“Only if the fight here allows it. We must prevail in both places.”
“No argument from me. We both have tasks, yes?”
Dealan closed her eyes and said, “Yes.”
Granum looked over the wall and saw Dech raining sword blow after sword blow onto Laerdavile’s bar. The avatar knelt, one arm held high to keep the field in place. Obviously heavily taxed in its effort to eliminate Dealan, it had suffered as well.
“Dealan is badly wounded,” Adelbert yelled, “but takes her skill to the Flint Plane. I have little left to cast with until I can rest and Laerdavile is in the same position. I suggest we dispatch the avatar with haste!”
“I can bring more misery on him,” Dech shouted while he continued his assault.
“Give me one moment!” Looking to Dissy, Granum asked, “How many arrows?”
“Three,” she said.
“Use them when I signal. Mayhaps, cease that racket when Dech moves away.”
The bard nodded.
Standing, Granum walked to the wall and raised his hands. “Sir Dech, stand well clear and prepare to attack.”
Dech backed away, his shield held up as he glared over the top.
As the sounds of the divine exorcism Mayhaps played faded, Granum spoke in a druidic tongue and brought his hands down to point at the avatar. A blast of wind, a white tube of high velocity air bowled the Lord of the Vile over and into one of the few intact cabinets left in the tower. Splintered wood flew and settled to reveal the inert form of the avatar.
Granum fell to the stone surface and uttered, “Arrows.”
Dissy aimed for the head and well before Dech was in sword range, three arrows protruded from the avatar’s skull.
“I fear my feeble cast was not enough,” Granum said in a weak voice as Dissy reached for her sword. “Might you move the abbess and Josip clear of here?”
Looking at Dech and then back to Adelbert, she said, “It looks like Dech may end all this right now.”
Granum pulled himself across the floor a short distance. “Perhaps, but I believe this fight is far from over.”
Dech was wary as he drew near the avatar. With his shield angled to deflect a spell or sign that might otherwise take him down, he sought to cut the Lord of the Vile into pieces. A pace away, he raised his sword and began a swift downward stroke when the avatar’s left hand twitched toward him and knocked him sideways and to his knees.
The avatar sat up and opened its maw, spewing forth a dark red cloud that arced a path to the raised area. Spreading as it traveled, it appeared to contain irregularly shaped clumps of burning material. The clumps broke apart as they struck the floor on the other side of the low wall, throwing a shower of sparks. Working the emission from right to left, it seemed the creature sought to immolate those who fought from there.
Dech’s shield work saved him from a hard fall that would have carried him across the tower. Raging and regaining his feet, he lunged. Throwing an arm up at the unexpected attack, Laerdavile ceased its casting as a scream of agony replaced its fiery expulsion.
Dech levered his sword free from where it lodged in the creature’s arm after having cut a large amount of soft tissue from the limb. Flailing as Dech raised his sword for another blow, a kick sent Dech reeling. Landing hard and crashing into one of the stone blocks, he knew he had broken a rib. Knowing the injury would have been far worse without his mail and the padding of his gambeson did not bring much comfort.
Forcing himself to his feet, he found the avatar curled on the floor under the shimmer of a bar field. Knowing the monster was healing itself, he looked to see the fate of his comrades. Dissy and Mayhaps were standing and appeared to be dragging something he could not see behind what little remained of the low wall.
“Who else lives?” Dech called, masking the pain he felt.
“Granum and Josip,” Mayhaps said.
“The abbess is dead?” he asked as he neared the incline leading to the area behind the low wall.
“She is,” Dissy said morosely.
“Odd,” Granum said, his voice barely audible. “I did not feel her passing. I am quite sensitive to such things.”
Dech found Mayhaps dragging Adelbert while Dissy did the same with Josip. Each of the downed men showed they had narrowly escaped the fire spell, their clothes singed by the sparking heat. Granum was barely conscious, Erie looked to be in a bad way.
Noticing Mayhaps did not carry his lute, he looked past him and saw the smashed remains of the instrument on the stone floor.
“Yes,” the bard said with a cracking voice. “I lost it. That beast still lives?”
“It does,” Dech replied.
Grimacing within his helm at the thought of half his band now down, he contrasted the difference between the present and the recent past. He wondered if he might have been willing to sacrifice all of them not so long ago. Were this a battle between contrition knights and the Lord of the Vile, they would fight until death, but his group was decidedly not. They were friends, new and old, here mostly because of him and only he was a military man. Knights are expendable, my friends are not.
“Someone needs to get word to the king’s forces if this proves a failure,” he said. “Josip and Adelbert may yet be saved, but not if they stay here. Go.”
“We can still aid you,” Mayhaps said.
“We can distract Laerdavile,” Dissy agreed. “I have no arrows, but I do have steel.”
“Neither of you have armor and we have two that need aid,” Dech replied.
“You’ll die to allow us escape?” Mayhaps said.
Dissy looked at Dech sternly. “Come with us.”
“I have no intention of dying this night. You’ve done all you can here and more. I still have sword and shield and will perform better knowing you are clear. Adelbert and Josip can be saved. Should I fail, word that the Lord of the Vile is here and not in Byrmont needs to be sent to King Harold. Go.”
The look the two gave him was grim, but Mayhaps shook his head and knelt next to Adelbert. “I do not write epitaphs, old friend. Don’t make me start with yours.”
“The spear Erie constructed,” Granum whispered as Mayhaps lifted the old man to carry him down the stairs. “It survived.”
“I’ll put it to good use,” Dech said.
As Mayhaps started down the stairs, Dissy stopped next to the warder and eased Josip’s shoulders to the floor. “Don’t even think of dying here, Dech Crouse. If you find you cannot win, you swallow that sense of
duty and flee to fight another day. Promise me or I’ll stay here and do what I can to keep you alive.”
Dech let out a loud breath before nodding. “You have my word. I’ll only die here if it means driving that creature from our plane.”
“That’s probably the best I’ll get from you.” Kissing her fingers, she slapped the front of Dech’s helm. “I’m holding you to your promise.”
Fighting back tears, she lifted Josip by the shoulders and backed down the stairs.
Dech walked up the incline and found Erie’s basilisk tail-tip spear on the floor. The ashen remains of the Abbess Dealan rested several paces away. After kneeling painfully and saying a quick prayer, Dech thought of Granum’s question of whether the rage aided healing. Considering it worth a try, he raged and thought about the injury, focusing on the center of the pain. Feeling a burning at the point of the break, the pain of the burning overtook that of the injury to the point Dech grew short of breath and his eyes watered profusely. Reaching his limit, he suppressed the rage and panted at the effort.
The burning pain ebbed slowly and Dech thought it a waste of effort, but pressing on the rib he felt no increase in the pain. “Nice thinking, Adelbert Granum,” he muttered as he stood. Moving to find he felt no ill effects from the injury and looking below, he found the avatar still in the same position, but appeared larger. Dech grimaced and carried the spear with him as he dashed down the incline to the wood planking. Winding his way through the stone blocks that littered the floor, he stopped and glared at his opponent.
As he let the rage build, he recalled his words to Dissy and thought, You’ve never broken a promise in your life. Let’s not start this night.
Placing the spear on top of one of the stone blocks, he crossed the space until he was near the curled form of the avatar. From here he could see the creature was taking on a shape that resembled its previous form. Letting the war sword dangle from his wrist by the sword knot, Dech found a sizeable piece of broken stone that he was confident he could lift. Raging and hefting the misshapen block to his chest, he growled and launched it at the shimmering bar field that covered the Lord of the Vile.
The Warder Page 51
