Plague of Shadows

by Michael Wisehart

  He retreated slowly toward the left side of the room, drawing Argon away from the tunnel. He had to give his fighters the chance to reach the vulraaks.

  Their steel rang through the cavern, sparks spitting with every clash. Ayrion leaped to the side just in time to keep from getting split in two as Argon’s blade plowed into the rock, sending a tremor up Ayrion’s legs. But it wasn’t just Argon’s blade he needed to worry about; he also had to watch the massive dagger-like claws on each hand.

  The fire behind them sent their shadows dancing across the stone walls as they fought for the very control of Aldor. Argon was immensely powerful and faster than anything that size had a right to be. Even with Ayrion’s ability to foresee the creature’s movements, it was still all he could do to keep up with him.

  Argon’s strength and speed seemed to flow from a bottomless reserve. He never slowed and never faltered, while Ayrion lost ground with every new swing. He danced back and forth, struggling to keep up. Whatever magic the creature was using, Ayrion wished he had some of it. His breathing grew labored, and his body ached from the abuse.

  They approached the far side of the chamber. Argon beat back another of Ayrion’s advances and then swung at his head. Ayrion dove to the side, aiming for Argon’s leg as he passed, but the vulraak was too quick.

  Rolling back to his feet, Ayrion spared a passing glance back at the tunnel. He could see Abiah, Bek, and a few others lifting crossbows. Please, don’t let them miss. Ayrion attacked, trying to keep Argon focused on him. He lashed out with both blades, angling to break through Argon’s guard and deliver that fatal blow, but the enormous creature managed to turn them aside.

  Ayrion spun and ducked underneath another attempt at his midsection and heard the snap of crossbows. Shrieks from the top of the rise followed. He attacked again, trying to keep the huge vulraak from turning, but Argon sidestepped with a quick backswing of his sword, forcing Ayrion to leap out of the way or be cut down.

  Using the momentary break, Argon turned to see what had happened. Across the room, Ayrion’s fighters were charging the rise, Abiah leading the way as they mounted the steps for the hostages.

  “Attack!” Argon roared.

  White bodies poured out from behind the throne on top of the shelf. There must have been a passageway hidden behind the rock.

  Ayrion and Argon continued to circle one another as they were momentarily distracted by the battle, each keeping one eye on the other.

  By the time Willem had grabbed the other kids and made it to the steps, Ayrion’s fighters crested the rise and hit the vulraaks’ front line. Ayrion could see Bek’s hatchets swinging through the air, sending up ribbons of dark blood with every pass.

  Argon lunged.

  Ayrion was so distracted by the battle that he barely missed being skewered by the enormous blade. He managed to get his swords up just in time to deflect the attack, sidestepping to the left as Argon barreled straight through. His escape was temporary, though, as he ended up with his back against the cavern wall.

  Argon roared and swung with everything he had. Ayrion ducked, and the steel bit into the wall, the impact so strong, it shook some of the larger boulders above them free, and they came raining down on top of them.

  Ayrion ran, using his visions to dodge the hail of rock, each one shaking the ground as they hit.

  Argon wasn’t quite as lucky, taking one to the back and another that grazed the side of his head.

  “Retreat! Retreat!” Bek shouted from the rise as the villagers fought their way slowly back down the steps.

  Ayrion turned. The creatures were already leaping from the sides of the rise and moving around to flank his fighters.

  They were trapped.

  Ayrion lifted his blades to run and help but dove to the right instead as a rock larger than his head flew by and slammed into the rise. His fighters were completely surrounded, boxed in from both sides of the steps. They needed his help.

  He steeled his emotions. As much as he wanted to save them, he was there for one purpose and one purpose only. If he had to spend all their lives to accomplish it, that was the price he would pay. It was the price they had all resigned to pay.

  He raised his swords and turned back around, giving himself in to his magic, holding nothing back. Heat pulsed through his body as he stared into the vulraak’s bloodred eyes. “One way or the other, this ends today.”

  Argon swung, but instead of blocking or dodging, or simply doing whatever he could to stay clear of the deadly weapon, Ayrion dove into the attack. With all the speed he could muster, he threw one of the swords and rolled through the creature’s legs before Argon had made it halfway through his swing.

  The sword buried itself in Argon’s upper chest.

  The ancient general roared as he stumbled backward, and with a lucky swing, he hit Ayrion in the side with the back of his hand, sending him through the air. Ayrion bounced off a boulder about ten feet away and landed on his hands and knees, coughing blood. He knew his ribs were cracked.

  The enormous creature yanked Ayrion’s sword from his chest and tossed it into the firepit.

  Ayrion smiled as he struggled to his feet, fighting back the pain in his chest. He’d finally managed to inflict a serious blow against Aerodyne’s general. Up until that very moment, he had begun to wonder if it was even possible. “So, you bleed after all.”

  The leader of the vulraak released a booming howl and charged.

  Ayrion braced for the impact, his legs already trembling.

  Argon raised his sword, but a shock wave tore through the room, sending him to his knees. The creature skidded to a stop as white bodies flew through the air in all directions. The cavern was raining vulraaks.

  Ayrion dove to the left to miss getting hit by one as it came down beside him. It squealed and went still. Quickly, he crawled to his feet, turning to look at the steps. Zynora had managed to clear their path down, but they were still fighting the ones from the top. Ayrion lifted his remaining sword and turned to face Argon, but he wasn’t there.

  Ayrion spun back around to see Argon racing past the firepit toward the stairs.

  “No!” Ayrion took off running. “Behind you! Behind you!” He barely had time to get the words out before Argon tore into the back of their ranks.

  Every swing of Argon’s blade sent pieces of townsfolk in all directions. In a panic, the people turned and charged the vulraaks at the top, cutting them down in a mad frenzy to get away from Argon. By the time they reached the pinnacle, what few vulraaks were left were leaping from the sides of the rise to escape.

  Ayrion tore up the steps behind them, Argon cresting the rise just ahead. His people were left with nowhere to go. Unlike the vulraaks, if they attempted jumping from that height, it would mean immediate death.

  “Argon, you coward!” Ayrion shouted as he charged up the steps. By the time he reached the top, his fighters were struggling to make it into the small opening behind Argon’s throne. Bek, Abiah, and a few of the other men were standing in a line out front, desperately trying to hold the monster back.

  The taverner deflected Argon’s blade with his own, but the strike ripped the old sword from his hands and sent him bouncing off the wall behind him.

  Ayrion reached the summit in time to see Zynora stumble to the front of the group and raise her arms. Argon stopped his attack and braced himself, but nothing happened. The panic on her face said she had nothing left. Ayrion raced across the rise to reach her, but not before Argon had turned and kicked Zynora sideways. Ayrion could hear the bones snapping as she crashed into the side of Argon’s throne and collapsed.

  Ayrion dove for Argon’s legs, but the vulraak leaped over him and back toward the edge. Dark blood was still seeping from the wound on the creature’s chest, covering half his white torso.

  Ayrion started for the front of the rise, pain so intense it overwhelmed everything but his need to kill this creature. He pushed all other worries aside. Too many people had given their lives for
him to give up now.

  He lunged, but Argon deflected and countered with a wide swing of his own. With only one blade, Ayrion was having a difficult time blocking both Argon’s steel and his claws at the same time. He swung to the right, temporarily diverting the enormous sword but leaving himself open in the process.

  Ayrion screamed as a single claw raked his chest. His black coat might as well have been made of silk, for all the good it did. All the air was forced from his lungs as he skidded across the ground, back toward the steps. Ayrion rolled to his side and caught a glimpse of Zynora’s motionless body. It didn’t look like she was breathing.

  He could hardly breathe himself. Blood filled his mouth. He spat it across the stone and forced his shaky arms to push himself up. He was barely able to make it to his knees before Argon started across the rise for him. The former general didn’t seem to be in a hurry, probably wanting to savor his victory.

  Ayrion attempted to stand but stumbled back to one knee, still dazed by the blow. Argon grinned as he raised his weapon. Ayrion barely got his sword up in time to stop the blow, the force of it sending him to both knees. Argon twisted to try from the other side, but not before Bek attacked from behind. The big trapper swung his hatchets with the speed of a cat, burying them in Argon’s back while he was turned.

  The monstrous vulraak roared as he spun and backhanded Bek. The trapper’s body went limp as he hit the edge of the rise and fell off.

  “No!” Ayrion screamed, tears burning his eyes. He forced himself the rest of the way to his feet, using his remaining sword for balance. He stumbled forward. His legs were shaking. He could feel the blood dripping from his chin. He coughed, and it nearly brought him to his knees all over again. He knew his insides were broken.

  Argon limped over to his throne. “I’m going to save you for last, warrior,” he sneered over his shoulder. “I want you to watch as I kill your friends one by one, knowing there’s nothing you can do to save them.” Argon stopped at the side of the granite seat. “And I think I’ll start with this meddlesome old hag,” he said, nudging Zynora with his foot. The movement brought her out of unconsciousness, and she started to move.

  No! Ayrion stumbled forward. “Take me instead. I’m right here.” His words were nearly the only weapon he had left to fight with as he stumbled to one knee, barely catching himself with his hand to keep from going down completely. He didn’t think he had enough strength to parry a single strike.

  Argon raised his foot over one of Zynora’s legs and looked at Ayrion. He grinned, then stepped down. Ayrion could hear the brittle bones snap.

  Zynora screamed.

  Ayrion dug deep, pulling every last drop of magic he had, gathering what small amount of life he still clung to, and bottled it for one final attack. He got to his feet and lifted his sword. This was it. All or nothing. He’d managed to take a single step when Zynora suddenly sat up and grabbed Argon’s leg. Purple light tore into the vulraak’s ankle, and he reared his head back and roared, the wedge of steel in his hand dropping to clang on the stone below. The creature couldn’t seem to move as the magic ripped through him. His screams shook the cavern.

  Zynora was giving Ayrion his chance. How she was even still conscious under such pain, Ayrion couldn’t guess, but he wasn’t going to waste her effort.

  With a deep breath, he raised his sword over his head. “Guide my aim,” he prayed, then lunged forward and threw his blade. It made two rotations, end over end. He could almost feel the impact as it punched through Argon’s chest, sending the creature reeling to his back, still paralyzed by the hold of Zynora’s magic.

  Ayrion stumbled forward.

  “Hurry!” Zynora mumbled. “I can’t hold him much . . .” The glow from her hands disappeared, and her eyes rolled up in the back of her head as she dropped.

  Ayrion yanked the blade from Argon’s chest, and before the creature had a chance to recover, he swung for the vulraak’s neck.

  Argon’s head rolled toward the ledge, where Abiah sent it the rest of the way over with a good kick, watching as it dropped into the fire below. “Back to the flaming Pits of Aran’gal for you!” he said, then hocked up a wet glob and sent it over the edge for good measure. Willem was there, trying to hold his father on his feet.

  Ayrion watched as the pillar of black smoke rose from Argon’s corpse, much thicker and larger than any he’d seen before. The smoke rose above them, blocking the top of the cavern from view. Ayrion stared up at the menacing cloud. Why wasn’t it dissipating? All the others had dispersed within seconds, but Argon’s wasn’t. In fact, it seemed to be coalescing as it circled the upper platform.

  By the time Ayrion realized something was wrong, the cloud struck. Ayrion had nowhere to go. It pinned him to the ground, leaving him unable to move.

  Something was terribly wrong.

  He could feel the smoke working its way into his mouth and eyes and ears, like a red-hot poker searing everything it touched as it pushed further inside him. He could feel Argon’s presence, his thoughts, his desires, his hatred. Ayrion struggled to move, but he was no longer in control. He could see the others standing there watching him. From the dumbfounded looks on their faces, they didn’t know what to do any more than he did. It was like peering through a hole in the wall, watching what was taking place in the next room, but not being able to interact with it.

  “Your body is a perfect fit, warrior,” Argon said, using Ayrion’s voice as he raised Ayrion’s arms and moved them about to test their motion. “So kind of you to share it.”

  Ayrion shouted, but no one heard him.

  A flash of something out of the corner of his eye had Argon turning. Ayrion wasn’t sure who was more surprised, Argon or himself, as they watched a man in thick furs clear the top steps and race across the platform. He was carrying one of Ayrion’s dragon blades in his hand.

  “No!” Argon jumped to his feet and chased after him, giving Ayrion no other option but to watch in stunned silence as Argon tried to reach the fur-clad trapper. But Bek had too much of a lead for Argon to catch up in Ayrion’s body.

  Bek dove through the air and landed on the ground beside the headless creature, bringing Ayrion’s black steel down across the rocks.

  What in the name of the Creator is that lunatic doing with my sword?

  Suddenly, Ayrion’s body convulsed, and he skidded to his knees, pain shooting through him as he and Argon screamed at the same time. What was happening?

  Again, Bek lifted his blade and struck the hard stone, and again Ayrion’s body jerked and twisted and eventually staggered to the ground, where he curled into a fetal position facing Bek. That’s when he saw it. The crystal Argon had been wearing around his neck. It was lying beside the creature’s body. Bek struck it once more, and the gem shattered.

  Ayrion fell flat on his back. He couldn’t move. He could, however, hear Argon’s voice screaming something in an unknown tongue. He watched as the dark cloud of Argon’s essence poured from his mouth and rose into the air.

  Those gathered to witness Ayrion’s transformation ran for the hole in the wall behind Argon’s throne, undoubtedly afraid he’d come for them next. However, this time, the dark, angry column of smoke didn’t attack. Instead, it floated upward, eventually disintegrating as it hit the farthest reaches of the rock over their heads.

  Finally, Ayrion was able to breathe on his own. Tears flooded his eyes. Tears of joy as he realized it was finally over. The pain of his broken body washed over him, and he was thankful for it. It meant he was still alive.

  Bek dragged Ayrion over to Zynora’s side as Abiah attempted to wrap her ruined leg. “Don’t you worry about me, Grey Eyes,” she said as she tried to hold a brave face. “I’ve seen worse.” Her voice was shaking, but it didn’t stop her from laying a hand on the top of his chest.

  He could feel her magic trickle into him. He was surprised she had any left. He finally grabbed her hand and pulled it away. “Stop. You’ve already used too much as it is. I’ll be fine.”<
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  “You’ll be fine when I say you’re fine,” she said, and laid her hand back on him, but before she could continue feeding him her magic, a couple of men lifted her up and carried her back toward the stairs leading off the rise. She complained the whole way down.

  Ayrion turned over and smiled at the sight of Willem with his arms wrapped around his father’s barrel chest, tight enough to make the taverner wince.

  “Give me your arm,” Bek said, helping Ayrion to his feet. Even with the healing Zynora had managed to give him, Ayrion’s legs were too wobbly to stand on their own.

  “Oh, I found this lying halfway out of the fire. Crazy thing wasn’t even warm.”

  Ayrion grinned when he saw the dragon blade resting in Bek’s hand.

  “Wouldn’t mind a couple of these myself,” Bek said. He placed the sword in its sheath on Ayrion’s back.

  “Apparently, you don’t need any weapons at all,” Ayrion said.

  Bek cocked his head with a confused look.

  “Well, one moment, you’re tumbling to your death over the side of the rise, and the next, you’re back up here like nothing happened, saving the day.” Ayrion studied the big trapper’s face. “Is there something you want to confess? A secret gift for wielding that we don’t know about?”

  Bek clapped Ayrion on the back and laughed. Ayrion didn’t find it too funny, as Bek’s hand sent a sheer jolt of pain down his spine. “No, no magic here. It was all providence. After going over the side, I managed to land on a pile of vulraaks that had been thrown off during Zynora’s last blast.”

  Ayrion and Bek walked over to the edge of the rise and looked down.

  “It appears the plague died with him,” Bek said, pointing to the remaining vulraaks who’d managed to survive the battle. Their bodies were already changing, their skin reddening, their claws and fangs receding.

  “Recovery is going to be a long road for them,” Ayrion said.

  Bek nodded. “Even if they managed to completely revert, I’m afraid Belvin will never be the same.”