“And how do you suppose we make it through this?” Margaret began.
“We don’t,” Dain whispered, his rumbling voice barely more than the slight passing of the wind. “Haven’t you crossed the Shadowfront before?”
He shot Margaret a quizzical look, but he did not press the question. It did not matter.
Rustling in his pouch, Dain pulled forth a small, orange gem, and held it gently in his hand. Light seemed to flicker within its amber depths, and it was not dissimilar to the gem Kraalek had used those many moons ago in the ruined city of Calinad. Dain closed his eyes, and a small fire ignited in his hand, enveloping the gem in a fiery embrace. Roan watched the spectacle intently, his jaw clenching and relaxing in a nervous fit.
The minutes drug by, the dancing flame in Dain’s hand providing the only measure of time. The Spark opened his eyes, and his hand began quivering.
“C’mon,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
“What’s taking so long?” asked Roan, his voice high with distress.
The companions watched the spectacle in silence. They could only begin to guess at what was transpiring, but they had enough wits about them to know it was not going well.
The two Sparks were growing frantic. Dain’s eyes began darting about in a frenzy, and his face was drawn tight. Roan was similarly distressed, and his teeth could be heard grinding in the still air.
More time crawled by, but still the companions waited, unsure of how to react to the growing tension.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Dain kept muttering to himself. Roan began pacing back and forth, his eyes locked upon the flaming ball in Dain’s quivering hand.
At last, after what seemed an eternity, Dain closed his hand, extinguishing the flame. His arm dropped limply to his side, and his sunken eyes bore into the companions. He looked like a shell of the man he had been just a few moments before. Ro could have sworn the man was about to break into tears.
“Something’s wrong,” Dain uttered, his voice cracking. He glanced down to his closed fist, and numbly shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“What?” Roan cried, his voice thundering through the silent air. Quickly realizing his mistake, his voice dropped to a low whisper. “There’s never been a problem retrieving a Spark before.”
“Something’s wrong,” Dain repeated.
“Try again,” Roan demanded, but Dain shook his head in defeat.
“It’s no use,” the solemn Spark said. His arm quaking, he returned the orange gem to his pouch, and reached for his longsword. “There was nothing. I heard nothing. There was no connection.”
Roan gawked at Dain; his shoulders slumped under the weight of the grave news. He opened his mouth, but promptly closed it. Nothing he could say would change the situation.
“So, where does that leave us?” Ro asked, unsure of the exchange. He did not understand the purpose of the gem, or what Dain meant when he said he did not feel a “connection,” but he certainly did understand the grim results. The once-bantering Sparks, who skipped through the bleak Shadow with an unquenchable life, now stood broken under the harsh weight of reality.
“At the Shadowfront,” Roan answered. Without another word, the two Sparks turned to the northeast, and began their solemn march to the edge of oblivion.
Unnerved, the companions started after them, slowly fitting the pieces together in their mind. They would have to fight to reach the Flame.
They would have to fight through the Shadowfront.
♦♦♦
Ro glanced over the edge of the mighty boulder he crouched behind. Before him lay the Shadowfront, the gargantuan clash between Shadow and Flame — the battlefield where the eternal darkness tried to wash into the pure land of Light. The endless, twisting mass of vile undead shambling before him utterly repulsed the draconian. Suddenly, it became quite apparent why there were no undead to be found on this new continent. They had all amassed into one, black swarm, a sea of rot and decay, and now crashed against the mighty dam of the Flame. The endless groans and dreadful screeches seared into his mind, threatening to send him into a bout of madness.
And the screams.
Not the guttural screams of the rotting mass of Shadow. Nay, the blood-curdling screams of the living. The bone-chilling screams of a Spark whose life was torn away in the fanged maw of an undead. The piercing screams of a Spark whose limbs were being torn from his mangled body. The horrifying screams of a Spark who just watched his friend become devoured in the endless mass of atrophy.
Ro’s stomach churned, and he had to resist the urge to vomit. There were living beings in that horrible swarm of rot. Living beings who were desperately trying to hold back the dreadful legion of darkness, sacrificing their lives for the sake of the Flame, for the sake of their friends and families. It was almost too much for the draconian to handle.
Almost.
While the agonizing deaths of the Sparks horrified the draconian, they also bolstered his resolve. A simmering fury boiled inside of him, and it was begging to burst free, begging to be unleashed on the black mass of corpses before him. A harsh growl escaped his lips, and he clenched the golden dagger that SmibSmob had gifted him. He would avenge their deaths.
Behind him crouched the other companions. Roan and Dain were pale, yet their eyes shone with a fierce rage. They hated the Shadow, and they would stop at nothing to devastate its vile ranks. The others readied their weapons, halberds and spells alike. Andromeda had already faded into the shadows and was awaiting Ro’s command to rush into the fray. Margaret's arm pulsed wildly at her side, casting a harsh cold over the others. Water swirled over Nalgene’s fists, ready to wash away the tide of decay. Fasto held a handful of stones in his hands; he was still unable to wield his mighty bow. SmibSmob clutched his pointed hat in one hand, and a thorned hammer in the other. He would fight.
Ro clenched his golden dagger and glanced out from behind the jagged boulder one final time. Beyond wasteland of death, and the writhing mass of rot, there was the pure touch of the Light. At the end of the valley, a great stone stronghold stood proudly like a towering knight not half a mile away. It was the sole barrier holding back the Shadow from the heart of the Flame, the lone guardian of a land shackled in chains. It was his goal, their goal, and he would do whatever it took to make sure he and his companions reached the Flame safely. He turned to the others, his heart thundering in his chest. They had to reach the stronghold.
“Let’s go,” he commanded, his silver eyes shining like two iron daggers. “Let’s reunite with the Flame.”
Without waiting for their response, Ro bolted from behind the boulder, his golden dagger held before him, and charged into the surging horde of undead, a roaring battle-cry thundering from his maw.
Immediately, Ro was enveloped in the vile horde. Rotting bodies crawled about him, reaching and clawing at his flesh. The dreadful smell of undead corpses filled his mouth, threatening to drown him in its black abyss. He tried to move, tried to breathe, but the overwhelming legion of death pressed in. Zombies bit at his flesh, their razor fangs scraping against his plate mail. Skeletons slashed at him with their weapons, and it was all he could do to survive the onslaught.
His golden dagger flashed, and his lightning breath arced across the battlefield, but it was not enough. Rumbling howls filled the air, and the undead mass surged over him, dragging him to the ground. He tried to breathe, tried to move, but black blood washed over him, and the weight of the horde drove him into the cold earth below. He tried to unleash another blast of lightning, but the undead drove their rotting arms into his throat, strangling him. All he saw was the gray, peeling flesh of undead. All he felt was the relentless rending of the dark horde. All he smelled was the oppressive stench of decay. All he tasted was the bitter, toxic taste of death. He vomited, but he did not even notice. He was going to die. The rotting mass pressed in, biting at his flesh, tearing at his eyes. His shining plate mail had been stripped from his body, leaving him exposed to the whims of
the undead. And still the horde pressed in, suffocating him.
He was going to die.
But then a surging wave of water washed over the draconian, dragging the undead away in a tide of freedom. Brown stones flew across his vision, followed by raging balls of fire and whistling shards of ice. Ro tried to stand, tried to rise to his feet, but his body would not let him. He was a fool. He had allowed his emotions to win him over. He had thrown caution into the wind, and now he would pay the price. His entire body pulsed with searing pain. Bloody gashes covered his body, and his vision was a hazed blur.
Andromeda appeared next to him, her eyes churning with sorrow. She whispered something to him, but he did could not hear her. She pulled him to his feet, but his legs would not support him. He had failed.
He was going to die.
Suddenly, a cool water flowed over him, mending his wounds, and dragging him back to reality.
“Don’t be thinkin' I’d let ye die so easily, Ro,” Nalgene grumbled, before charging into the fray, devastating spells of water washing away any undead unfortunate to stand in his path.
Ro shook his head, regaining his senses. Andromeda stood before him; her face torn with emotions. A lone tear streaked down her face. She opened her mouth, but clamped it shut as the undead horde returned. There would be no time for emotions here. In the Shadowfront, it was a battle of survival. There was no room for gray in this realm of black and white.
Ro took a quick glance around, absorbing the surrounding chaos. His eyes locked on Roan, who was being mauled by a pair of hulking zombies. Blood seeped down the poor man’s face. His mouth opened wide to scream, but no sound came. Instead, his throat was torn out by the fangs of a rotting soldier. Dain tried to save his friend, but it was too late. The Shadow had already claimed another victim. Dain’s mouth opened wide, a piercing howl of sorrow filling the battlefield. Tears streaming down his face, he rushed at the hulking undead, his longsword swinging wildly in front of him. Burning orbs of fire shot from his outstretched hand, incinerating any who stood before him. Black blood filled the air as he cut down undead after undead. But it was not enough. It was never enough. The horde surged forward, enveloping Dain in its iron grasp of decay. Skeletons slashed at him with their weapons, hacking his limbs from his body. Zombies tore at his flesh, ripping his organs from his bleeding chest. Dain’s head rolled back; his face frozen in an eternal scream.
Horrified, Ro could only watch as the Sparks succumbed to the Shadow. Everything went numb. All the screams and all the howls — it all went quiet. He locked eyes with Andromeda, his silver eyes burning like two fiery swords. He would avenge them. He looked to the stronghold, and then to the writhing mass of undead. Clenching his golden dagger in his hand, Ro rushed forward, cutting into the vile ranks of darkness. He would avenge them.
His instincts took over.
A twisted zombie rushed at the draconian, but he deftly stepped to the side, driving his dagger deep into its skull. Tearing the weapon forth, he flipped it about, and decapitated the sickly creature. Three more undead charged at him, but he opened his maw, devastating them with a crackling bolt of lightning. More and more devilish beings rushed at him, tearing at him with fangs and claws alike, but then Andromeda was there, at his side, carving a way through the Shadowfront.
She darted through the undead, her halberd making short work of the vile beings. Her claws shot out, rending at rotten flesh and tearing down the undead. Before the Shadow could grasp her, she disappeared, only to reappear at the draconian’s side.
Together, they cut through the Shadowfront, making their way to the towering stronghold in the distance.
A pair of rotting stallions rushed at them, and skeleton archers rained down a hail of iron arrows, not caring if they struck friend or foe. The draconian leaped at the rushing stallion, barreling into the undead rider and driving it off its unholy mount. His dagger flashed, cutting into the rotting flesh and releasing a thick pool of black blood. An arrow thudded into his shoulder, and another zombie crashed into him, dragging him to the ground. Rotting claws slashed at him, and dreadful fangs drove into his shoulder, digging into tendons and bone. Twisting, the draconian rolled out from under the undead, and his dagger shot forward, plunging into the being’s hollow eye. Tearing his weapon out, he lunged forward, his maw clamping down upon the zombie’s head and crushing it with a sickening crunch.
But the stallion was still there, and it charged at the draconian, its iron hooves thundering across the ground. It was all he could do to dodge. Caught off balance, he was tackled by another hulking undead. His head cracked against the unforgiving ground, and his vision went blurry once more.
But then the zombie was gone, torn away by an infuriated Andromeda. She would not let Ro die. Not while she still had breath in her lungs. Blood spraying in all direction, she dismembered the vile beast, and leaped to her feet, her halberd arcing around to slice another two undead.
Shaking his pain away, the draconian jumped to his feet. Yet another undead stallion thundered at him, a skeleton warrior mounted on its rotting back. It never reached Ro. Small stones bounced off it, and a mighty shard of ice crashed into its flank, driving it to the ground. They had reunited with Fasto and Margaret. Without hesitation, the draconian darted forward, his dagger cutting and twisting, dismantling the fallen steed. The skeleton warrior tried to hack at him with its jagged ax, but its leg was pinned under the rotting carcass of the stallion. Growling, he made short work of the skeleton as well.
Andromeda rushed over to him, her black hide bruised and bloody. Margaret and Fasto followed behind her, their stones and ice damaging creatures in the surrounding horde. A massive, shambling mass of rotting flesh stomped towards them. Dozens of rotting arms reached from its bulbous body, and mighty spikes jutted out in all direction. It gaping maw opened wide, revealing rows of dagger-like fangs.
Leading the charge, the draconian rushed at the hideous abomination, lightning arcing from his maw. Shards of ice whistled above his head, piercing into the creature’s gruesome body. Undeterred, it brought its burly, trunk-like, arm up, and smashed it into the ground, sending dust and gore flying into the air. The draconian rolled to the side before leaping to his feet and bolting at the dreadful beast. It amazed him how much more mobile he was without his plate mail. His dagger weaved across, slashing at outstretched arms and cutting at black flesh. Andromeda appeared from the air, landing upon the unholy beast’s shoulders and plunging down with her halberd. The rotting creature flailed about, its spiked arms slamming into the ground with reckless abandon. The draconian darted and weaved, gracefully swerving through the storm of attacks.
But there were still more undead.
A horde of shambling undead aided the flailing abomination, many of them becoming crushed under its mighty arms. But still more tore at the companions. The draconian could only avoid the devastating attacks for so long. His body burned with exhaustion, and another arrow struck him, dropping him down to his knee. Andromeda was flung off the rotting beast and lay dazed upon the cold earth. Fasto was attempting to fend off a group of four skeletons, but he could do little with his stones and shattered arms. Margaret’s face was twisted with blood lust, and she viciously beat upon the mangled corpse of a zombie, sending a haze of black blood into the dusty air.
But there were still more undead.
A triad of undead stallions stampeded at the companions, their ghastly riders slashing down with jagged weapons. Growling, Ro snapped the shaft of the protruding arrow, and pushed himself back to his feet. He dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the swing of the rotting abomination. But as he rolled to his feet, he was clipped in the face by a rushing stallion. Blood flew from his maw, and he crashed back into the ground, his head aching from the impact.
Andromeda managed to regain her senses, but four undead were already on top of her, tearing at her flesh with vicious claws. An anguished screech escaped her lips. Blood oozed from Fasto’s head, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He
had somehow felled two of the pursuing skeletons, but three more rotting soldiers of death had taken their place. Margaret howled wildly and a nova of ice burst from her body, freezing any nearby undead in an icy prison. Her demonic power had spread and covered her entire body, transforming her into a devilish nightmare. Her black arm swung about, devastating the rotting legions with demonic power. Ice radiated from her body, and an icy storm swirled about her fist. With a ferocious roar, her dark arm shot forward, crashing into an undead stallion and unleashing a massive shock wave of icy destruction, washing away dozens of undead in a single, terrifying blow.
But there were still more undead.
For every undead the companions managed to defeat, five more were ready to take its place. There would be no escape. The Shadow would consume all. Sparks died all about the battlefield, their blood pooling on the saturated ground. Rotting abominations thundered through the battlefield, crushing any unfortunate being that wandered too close. Undead giants stomped about, smothering any hope of life under their mighty feet. A constant barrage of jagged arrows filled the air, raining death upon the bloody frenzy. At the stronghold, barriers and reinforcements, manned by legions of Sparks, managed to keep the onslaught of Shadow at bay. Great spells of fire incinerated dozens of vile undead, and unparalleled warriors held strong against the black tide. But for how long? There would be no escape. The Shadow would consume all.
And there were still more undead.
It was all the battered companions could do to try to survive. They were still far from the stronghold and the safety of the Flame. The situation seemed hopeless. Undead piled upon Ro, drowning him in a pool of rot. Andromeda crawled across the ground, desperately trying to escape the undead pursuers. Fasto had been driven to the ground, and he shielded his face with his mangled arms, tears streaming down his face. Even Margaret’s devastating wave of ice had done nothing to reduce the staggering scope of the oncoming storm. She had returned to her normal appearance, and was surrounded by undead, her face twisted in a maniacal rage. There would be no escape. The Shadow would consume all.
A Land in Shadow Page 27
