by Paul Barrett
It was over so quickly that Erick had just reached into his pocket and removed an herb when the trio turned to him.
“What’s that?” Marcus asked as Erick walked out and knelt down to one of the fallen soldiers.
“Something I hoped I wouldn’t have to use anytime soon,” Erick answered, listening with apprehension at the ever-growing noise outside. He didn’t know what they would face out there, but if his vision were any indication, it was going to be unimaginably more difficult than fighting a single vampire. He could only hope he had made sufficient preparations.
Hands shaking, he took one of the soldier’s daggers and cut himself deeply across the palm. He put the herb in his palm and squeezed his hand into a fist, wincing at the pain. “Mucalz col cnila phamah, zodireda oi Feverfew. Alakanath, amde sibsu, dluga mucalz deteloc pham nocig hami apila. Krinnik, amde sibsu, dluga mucalz decalz pham zacar. Sangara, amde sibsu, dluga mucalz decnila qaas bagie.”
Marcus grabbed Corby and Elissia and backed away quickly as Erick began the incantation a second time.
“What is that?” Corby asked, shivering.
“Nothing good,” Marcus told him.
YOU WILL SOON BE MINE! The voice screamed in Erick’s head, almost knocking him over. His mind reeled as blackness covered his vision.
You’ll not have him! Blink appeared in Erick’s mind, a nimbus of gold around him, wings spread and tail flared. The darkness withdrew.
There is no hurry, the voice whispered, and Erick’s mind cleared. He spoke the incantation a third time, his voice shaky, and then opened his blood-coated fist. The herb, once a bright green six-pronged leaf, was now rusty brown and smashed into the center of his hand. Lifting his palm, he removed the leaf with his tongue and pulled it into his mouth.
Ignoring the disgust on his friend’s faces, Erick stood up, the Elonsha running through him as blood dripped from his hand. This close to the mountain, the power felt different, more vibrant and energetic, but it also carried a deeper undercurrent of malice.
Surrender, the voice whispered, fighting to break past Blink and Erick’s resistance. You face your master. Surrender now and die without pain.
“Let’s go,” Erick said through clenched teeth, moving toward the open door as he fought to ignore the insistent whispering.
I demand your capitulation. Give in now or suffer as your father did.
I reject you! Erick screamed back. Your pathetic book of power couldn’t corrupt me, neither will you. We shall destroy you utterly this time.
We? The voice sounded amused. Very well then, come forth and fight me, little Deathmage.
Screams of panic blended with wails and growls crashed in on him, overlaid by the roaring of fire. Though trembling inside, Erick walked forward with a show of confidence. His friends had carried him this far; now it fell to him to see them through the darkness.
As Erick walked away, Fathen grabbed a sword, while Marcus snatched two daggers and tossed one to Elissia. Corby picked up a crossbow and a handful of bolts and remained at the rear with Gabrielle.
They stepped out of the jail and into a nightmare. Fires burned in the few wooden areas of the stone buildings. The orange light, reflected by the night sky, cast a hellish glow on the carnage. People fled, pursued by an array of undead: ghouls, zombies, and skeletons. Bodies lay in the streets, fed upon by the ravenous ghouls and packs of undead wolves. The stench of blood mingled with decayed flesh to create a perfume of damnation. Gabrielle fell to the ground and threw up while Corby knelt beside her.
Four guards ran past them and attacked a ghoul, body thin and desiccated, as it feasted. Their swords swung down almost as one. The impact knocked the creature flat, but the blades did no damage. The creature sprang up with a hiss and slashed out with dagger-sharp fingernails. Two men fell, blood spraying from severed arteries.
“Run,” Erick screamed at the two unharmed soldiers, but they either didn’t hear him or were resolute in their duty. They attacked again, but the ghoul, with the quickness of its kind, sidestepped both weapons and leapt at the closest guard. The monster landed on him like a frog, clawed feet digging into legs and hands latching onto shoulders. The guard stumbled backward.
Ripping away the man’s half helm, the ghoul spread its large mouth and buried triangular teeth into the guard’s skull. The crunch sounded like the cracking of a hundred eggshells. The guard gave a brief scream and dropped as the ghoul yanked back, taking half the skull and brain into its maw. The other guard fled, but a wolf, its fur missing and skin black with rot, hamstrung him. As the man landed on his face, three more lupine undead pounced and tore the chainmail easily as parchment, ripping away chunks of flesh and dropping them to the ground.
The presence of so many gateloah overwhelmed Erick. An attack of this size required time and preparation. Who could have done it?
“What now?” Elissia asked in a strained voice as Corby helped the sickened Gabrielle to her feet.
“Toward the mountain,” Erick said, talking with difficulty around the herb still in his mouth. Power thrummed through him, ready to find release, and his body tingled with the dark energy. He glanced at the mountain, and it seemed alight with vibrant purple-black and red light, Elonsha crackling from the roots of the world. “Stay close to me. Warn me if a creature comes near.”
“I can’t do it,” Gabrielle said. Her face grew paler as she watched a small child, screaming for her mother, set upon and mauled by a zombie.
Corby took her hand. “Close your eyes, I’ll guide you.”
“We’ll guide you,” Marcus said, stepping up and taking her other hand.
They headed for the mountain. Thankful the whispering voice left him alone, Erick set a quick pace, doing his best to watch for imminent attack while also trying to ignore the death around him. Despite the accusations and his imprisonment, these people didn’t deserve this, and Erick had to fight every inclination to help them. To do so would be suicide; his preparations and powers paled compared to the hordes that ran through the town. Elonsha danced in the air, making him dizzy. It called to him, its seduction present even without the whispering voice. Blink had problems walking, drunk on the energy that sizzled over the town.
A nearby woman screamed as razor sharp ghoul talons dug into her chest.
Fathen shouted to Erick. “We need to help these people fight.”
“We can’t,” Erick said, his voice breaking.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not powerful enough,” he answered, close to tears. “Our only hope to survive is the mountain.”
It horrified Erick that some part of him, a primal being deep within his soul, relished the carnage. The blood and Elonsha stirred his darkest longings, arousing him like a wicked woman’s touch.
This last leg of his arduous journey impressed on Erick as the longest of his life. The screams of the dying and groans of the dead surrounded them. Guilt at his inability to save the town warred with the strange bloodlust that ravaged him. He ran from the thing he had been taught from the beginning to fight, even as he longed to join in the destruction. He wept as he walked.
Stay with me, Blink said in his mind. We’ll make it through. You don’t want to kill.
But I do, Erick thought as he watched three zombies attack a man in a baker’s apron and break him like a wishbone.
Look to your left.
Brave Elissia, her dirt-smeared face grim, stood near, a dagger in her hand. Fear clouded her olive round eyes, but below that he saw more. She would die for him because she loved him.
That’s what you’re fighting for, Blink told him. All the rest is a distraction.
Erick’s mind cleared, and he ignored the carnage, his focus on nothing but attaining the mountain entrance.
Their path took them into the town square, which sat oddly untouched by the destruction, although the smell of burning wood and despoiled flesh still whirled on the wind. Merchant stalls stood unmolested, their fruits and trinkets spared. Three puppies hud
dled under a wooden cart, whimpering but healthy.
The gallows stood in the square’s center. The gallows they were going to use for me, Erick thought.
Beneath the platform lay several bodies. On the gallows, one hand through the noose, stood a man dressed in a black, hooded outfit: The man from Erick’s dream.
Seeing their arrival, the man threw back the hood. “So you finally made it, little Deathmage.”
Erick looked at the man poised above them, the face so plain that it took Erick a few seconds to recognize him. It was the assassin; the man Erick had refused to kill in Draymed. But the man had become more than that.
Filled with the power of Elonsha and the vibrant dark spirit of Eligos, the man glared down at Erick with soulless black eyes. As brilliant points of red shot through the pupils, he said, “You’ve all arrived just in time to die.”
32
I am often praised for the role I had in the events that came to pass. To that I say, save your praise for those who deserve it, those who are no longer with us. I only did what had to be done, and was “lucky” enough to be there to witness the bravery and sacrifice of others.
-Excerpt from lecture by Corberin of Draymed, given at the University of Straph
As the others stared in mute shock at Andras, Fathen knew he would never have a better chance to kill Erick. But he hesitated as he witnessed the destruction around him. A woman in flames rolled in the street, and that woman was Beatru. A child screamed as a skeletal creature grabbed him, and that child was Calligan. The town burned, as Draymed had burned.
A bright light flashed in his head, a warmth that offered salvation and a chance for redemption. It is not too late for you, my child, the light told him.
But it is, a darker voice said. This one is mine now. Leave him.
You must decide, the gentle voice told Fathen. To me, you are a revered follower. To the Inconnu you are but another pawn, a means to assert his will. But know I have never left you. Defend the Necromancer and claim your place in my Heaven.
“I don’t believe you.” Fathen pulled the knife from its covering; the wax seal broke with no noise. He glanced at the blade, glistening black and red with corruption. The blade pulsed, power coursing through it. Moving forward, he put the knife to his side, his hand trembling.
Erick recovered from his shock. “You! You did all this?”
“Yes. I’ve not been idle your father released me. I am filled with the Elonsha of your brethren, and soon yours will join it. The place of my defeat will become my fortress. From here I shall destroy this world and remake it for my people.”
People? Erick had never heard of the Inconnu as a people. “Go while you can,” Erick said with a bravery he didn’t feel. “I will not allow your foulness to spread through this place. I will stop you.”
“No,” Eligos said. His eyes glittered and dark energy radiated from his being. “You will be dead.”
Fathen raised the dagger. Erick’s back was to him; all eyes were on Andras. All he had to do was strike Erick and scream the praise of Eligos.
“Don’t,” Calligan said, standing at Erick’s back. He spread his ghostly arms to encompass the burning town. “Let this be the last sacrifice. Caros loves you; he forgives you. He is a god of strength, and you are his priest. Show your strength.” Yellow light radiated from Calligan until it consumed him and washed over Fathen.
Remorse, sharp as a razor, gutted Fathen and he closed his eyes. Faces of the dead flashed across his lids, the most piteous the young soldier he had killed all those years ago. He could do it no more. The light of Caros, so long missing, returned to Fathen’s soul. Eligos offered power, but the burning town and a child’s slit throat showed Fathen the price of that prestige. It was more than he wanted to pay. His hatred for Erick still burned, but killing him would only give Eligos leave to turn every town into Draymed, every child into a murdered soul. Fathen would not give his life for the Necromancer, but neither would he take Erick’s life for the benefit of the Inconnu. It had always been their fight. He would slip away and let them fight it.
He opened his eyes, and Elissia stood before him, hatred in her blue eyes. “I knew you were false,” she snarled. “You should have stayed a priest; you make a lousy assassin.”
Fathen looked at the knife, still raised. “No,” he said. “I’m not—”
Pain flared in his right arm, his tattoo burning as if hot cinders pressed into his flesh. You are my chattel, priest. Do as you are commanded.
Malevolent energy surged through Fathen, the pain blinding as it infused his limbs. He tried to resist, but he was a scarecrow in a tornado. He lunged forward.
Elissia sidestepped, lifted her foot, and kicked, landing a solid blow to the side of Fathen’s kneecap. The bone snapped with a loud crack and Fathen dropped to his knees. He felt no pain, only a burning urge to do his master’s bidding.
Elissia’s foot smashed against Fathen’s face, breaking his nose. Eligos roared in anger through his puppet and lashed out with the knife. Elissia backed away, but the blade sliced through her pants and nicked her. She punched Fathen in the eye, and the tall man fell back.
You will pay for your treachery, just as the Necromancers did, Eligos whispered in Fathen’s mind. The dark energy fled Fathen’s body, leaving him stunned with the pain of Elissia’s assault.
Erick watched as Fathen fell to Elissia’s punch, uncertain what had provoked the attack. Elissia looked at Erick and smiled. Her grin changed to a grimace. She wobbled. Her face turned pale, and sweat burst onto her forehead.
“Something’s wrong,” she said, and collapsed.
Erick saw the knife in Fathen’s outstretched hand--its blade turning crystalline as the poison dried--and the splotch of blood on Elissia’s pants.
“No!” Fury boiled up as the depth of his mistake in Draymed came crashing in on him. With crystal clarity, his mind played out the events that transpired to culminate in this place and time. The Inconnu had done what Erick hoped wasn’t possible; Fathen had become a thrall to Eligos.
And it all started because Erick had been too kind-hearted to allow a man to die.
As the wrath built in him at Fathen’s betrayal, such reluctance disappeared. He flung his injured hand out, sending splatters of blood toward the treasonous cleric.
“Rise!” Erick yelled as the droplets struck the ground around the prone Fathen. He flicked his hand again, sending out more blood. “Rise!”
Fathen watched with dazed, wide eyes. Each droplet soaked into the ground and the dirt exploded as a creature, human in shape but desiccated and long beyond living, forced its way from the earth.
“No, you don’t understand,” Fathen said as he tried to crawl away.
“I understand too well,” Erick said in a choked voice. “Qaas,”
The vohquana moved in on Fathen.
“Eligos, help me!” the priest shouted, swinging the tiny dagger wildly as the ten creatures advanced on him. The blade struck one of the zombies and bounced harmlessly off the magically imbued flesh, skittering from Fathen’s hand. As the first creature grabbed his arm, Fathen screamed. The creature bit and tore, severing Fathen’s hand in a spray of blood. Another dug its fingers into the helpless man’s stomach, pulling flesh and muscle aside to reach the tender organs inside. “Caros, save me. I’m sor-” Fathen’s cries stopped, replaced by the noise of ten zombies rending and chewing.
Erick turned to face Andras. “Your turn,” he said, sending more blood to the ground.
“You won’t find me so easy,” the man on the gallows said, waving his hand in a circle before him. The bodies beneath the gallows sprang to life, rising and shuffling toward Erick, even as his vohquana broke from the ground to defend him. Erick continued to toss drops of his blood to the ground; everywhere his vital essence touched, a gateloah broke forth, called by the power coursing through Erick.
The others watched in horrified awe as battle between Erick and Andras raged, Erick summoning more creatures as Andras d
rew the beings around him into the combat. Neither sorcerer spoke, their concentration focused on each other and their enchanted warriors. Erick had only zombies, but Andras had ghouls, wights, and death hounds. Snarls, growls, and moans filled the air, clashing with the thud of desiccated flesh striking brittle bone. Creatures on both sides fell with torn limbs or severed heads.
“Can’t we do anything?” Gabrielle sobbed as tears streamed down her tan face.
Corby loaded the crossbow with shaking hands and tried to aim at the man standing on the gallows. He breathed deep, steadying the bow.
A black fog drifted across the man, and he changed, shifting into a pale-skinned, slavering creature with deep black-red eyes full of evil and bony fingers that formed the symbols of ultimate malevolence. It seemed to Corby as it the essence of Death had obtained quivering life. Too terrified to even scream, he let the crossbow fall from his numbed hands.
“Where’s Marcus?” Gabrielle asked in a trembling voice. When Corby didn’t answer, she turned to him. “Corby, whe-” the question died as she looked at the pale, slack-jawed scholar. “Corby?”
The zombies over Fathen stood and stumbled away from the decimated corpse, recognizable only by his shredded robe, once yellow, now soaked with blood. They moved to Erick’s side and defended him against a group of skeletons barely covered in thin sheets of graying flesh.
Erick stepped back as Andras called more gateloah to his cause. Shaking his hand weakly, he dripped blood onto the ground, but only one more creature appeared. He shook his hand again, and nothing happened. Erick’s heart sank. All the gateloah he had managed to gather on their trek through the Ruins were here, and they were not nearly enough.
The creatures of Andras outnumbered his two to one, and the Inconnu continued to call forth more. All Erick had were the cobbled, ancient remains of people left roaming the Ruins, some warriors, but most farmers and miners. They were the only thing available to him with his limited herbs, blood and time. The power of Eligos had summoned a war horde.
