by Darius Hinks
The fly’s agony grew as she watched the awful scene. She knew, without recalling all the details, that she had done this to them. She had betrayed the forest to its death.
‘Ariel,’ she spat, recalling the witch who had driven her to this wretched condition. Even through all her fidgeting lunacy, Ordaana could recall one, clear truth. Ariel had driven her to murder. And everything since then had been her fault. This bitter thought was enough to remind her of her purpose. She had to find her only ally. Alkhor had promised her revenge. Revenge. She had nothing else left.
She dragged her broken body up onto its six legs and began hauling herself over the bodies.
The column of flies was only thirty or so feet away and she realised that her lapse into forgetfulness must have been just one of many that had overtaken her as she hauled herself across the battlefield. But now she was almost there. If she could just remain conscious for a few more minutes, she would be within shouting distance of the daemon.
A shadow passed overhead and she paused to look up at it. A great, winged monster was falling through the clouds. She shivered at the sight of it. The thing had a grotesque, canine head that dredged a horrifying memory from her mind. She had seen the crimson-skinned brute before. She had seen it through a pool of blood, hacking heads from shoulders as it warned her that Alkhor would fail. The thing had claimed that it was her only hope. Could it have been telling the truth?
‘I am Ordaana,’ she moaned, as more of her dreadful history slotted into place.
‘You are my queen,’ belched a deafening voice, and Alkhor’s grey, porridge-like claw lifted her from the ground and into the storm of flies. ‘And I will not fail you.’
His face was a vast, sagging boil. A lumpen bag of pus, studded with a pair of tiny, glinting eyes. Rolls of grey flesh tumbled down over his chest in a mottled jumble of chins and thousands of tremors were moving across his skin. He looked like the surface of a stagnant pool, rippling in the breeze.
‘The time is now,’ he laughed, lifting her dangerously close to his gaping maw.
‘Now?’ Ordaana’s voice quivered. ‘I can kill Ariel now?’
‘Yes,’ smiled the daemon. ‘I am true to my word.’ He lifted his iron sword from the ground. It had grown along with him and it was now over a hundred feet long – a vast slab of pitted, rusted iron. ‘You will have to be quick though. My generosity will extend to one chance only.’ He closed his eyes and groaned as the tremors in his flesh grew more violent. ‘The Great Corrupter is almost here. This wonderful garden has drawn Him to us. The life we have fostered in this forest has done its work. He is on his way, Ordaana. He is on his way. You have only minutes left, and then He will bless all of us with unimaginable gifts. The world will be made anew.’ He opened his eyes and they were full of tears. ‘It will be made beautiful.’
Ordaana thrashed at his claw with her legs. ‘But how? What do I do?’ Panic gripped her. Revenge was the only thing that made sense of what she had done. Ariel had to die by her hand. ‘How can I kill her?’
There was a booming crash, like the sound of a landslide, as Alkhor launched himself into the air. His ragged wings lifted him with ease, flinging him across the garden with Ordaana still trapped in his claw.
‘Remember the blade, my queen,’ he grinned.
Ordaana panicked at the thought of the silver knife. She could not remember seeing it for weeks. Then, as she looked down at the black bristles of her abdomen, she saw that it was still there, strapped to her rotten hide by a shred of yellow cloth. It glinted dangerously as she grabbed it – a pure, untainted mirror, reflecting a hideous, tormented face.
‘Even an aspect of a god will fall at its touch,’ said Alkhor. ‘Trust me. Its power is more than you could ever imagine.’
Ordaana began to scream as the daemon bore her down towards the remnants of Orion’s army. She did not know if it was a scream of victory, or a scream of terror.
Orion’s breath exploded from his lungs as he and the daemon smashed into an enormous puffball. The fungus exploded, shedding clouds of spores into the air and when Orion and the daemon stood to face each other, they were both dusted white.
The daemon roared and drew back its axe to strike, and Orion stood there, unarmed and too dazed to flee.
A wall of figures crashed into the daemon, driving it back into the punctured ball of fungus and dragging it to its knees.
Orion looked on with pride and awe as the forest protected him. He saw warriors from each of the asrai realms, fighting side-by-side with dryads and tree spirits. When their weapons broke, they fought on, tearing at the daemon with splintered, wooden claws and broken fingernails. Animals followed in their wake, screeching and howling as they covered the daemon’s armour.
Within seconds the daemon had vanished beneath a host of Orion’s subjects.
‘They cannot kill it,’ said Ariel in exhausted tones, as she landed beside him.
The thing had managed to stand, despite being covered in struggling shapes and it was attempting to raise its axe. Flames leaked from its jaws and from the joints of its brass armour, dragging screams from those who were trying to subdue it.
‘No,’ said Orion, facing his queen with an uncharacteristic smile, ‘but they do not fight alone.’
Ariel frowned, then nodded as more bestial shapes rushed passed them. These were no more than shadows – half-glimpsed in the whirling clouds of flies, but Ariel gasped in recognition. ‘The Brúidd.’
The Council of Beasts joined their flesh-bound kin in silence and they moved so fast Orion could barely make out their forms. He saw the hooded figure of the Wrach, hurling serpents from its staff and the frost-coloured wolf, leaping for the daemon’s throat. Then, in a whirl of golden leaves he saw Zephyr, followed by a horned serpent that rose up and sank its long, curved incisors into the daemon’s neck.
The daemon roared, shrugged off some of its attackers and brought down its axe. The blade passed through the Wrach and thudded into the ground without even halting the spirit in its tracks.
Another spirit whirled into view, shrouded in flames. It was a vast, four-winged eagle, with a bone-spear jutting from its chest.
‘Amphion,’ grunted Orion.
The eagle spirit attacked with such fury that the daemon finally gave way, crashing on to its back, even as it batted Amphion away with a roar.
Sensing victory, Orion managed to stand and began hobbling towards the stranded daemon.
As he reached the struggling shapes, a towering spirit rose from the murk and wrenched off the daemon’s brass armour, pulling away most of its crimson chest muscles as the same time.
Orion saw that it was the spirit of an ancient tree – a venerable old thing, driven to fury by the Wild Hunt. It turned to face him and he recognised it as the spirit that hadfreed him from the Wildwood and dressed his wounds with bark. Then it vanished in the whirling crush.
Flames burst from the daemon’s shattered ribcage but, incredibly, it began to rise, reaching out for its axe.
Orion looked around for a weapon but, at that moment, Ariel flew past him, wrenched a sword from the ground and jammed it through the daemon’s arm, pinning it to the ground.
There was another explosion and Ariel was silhouetted for a moment by a wall of flames.
Orion was staggered by the blast, but sensed other figures hurtling past him.
The light failed and Orion saw three wardancers, covering the daemon in a blinding flurry of sword strikes.
The daemon batted two of them away but the third jammed both of his swords deep into its exposed heart.
The daemon roared, arched its back and fell to the ground in a cloud of spores.
A cheer resounded across the garden as the light faded from the daemon’s eyes.
The three wardancers reeled away from the daemon’s corpse and turned to face Orion.
Despite the fury racing through his head, Orion could not help smiling at the sight of Caorann, Sibaris and Alhena staggering towards him, a
ccompanied by a pair of blood-drenched polecats.
The wardancers looked at him with the same awe as everyone else but, as Caorann wiped his blades and bowed, Orion caught a flash of humour in his old friend’s eyes.
Orion nodded in recognition, then turned to see the effect of the wardancers’ work.
The crimson, sword-wielding ranks faltered as they saw what had happened. None of them had expected such a thing. The slaughter stopped and they lowered their blades, looking around to see who would lead them. The neat, orderly ranks began to break up.
Ariel returned to Orion’s side, still clutching her borrowed sword. Her robes were scorched but her eyes were blazing with determination.
Over the next few minutes, the remnants of Orion’s army rushed to his side, waiting on his order. Naieth came staggering through the mounds of bodies accompanied by several of Ariel’s handmaidens. Mälloch the Elder was there, his white bearskin streaked with crimson and a whole cabal of furious sorcerers at his side. Caorann and the other wardancers remained close, twirling their swords and watching proudly over their king. The Council of Beasts shimmered in and out of view, slithering, fluttering and crawling past eyes that would never see them. Finally, leading the scowling, brittle ranks of her sisters, came Drycha. Her bark was stained black with blood and her face was a knot of anger, but she lowered her head to the king as she reached his side.
Orion faltered as he saw that the forest had become one soul, united in wrath, ready for his command.
Someone reached out from the crowd and handed him a spear. The warrior was so drenched in blood that it took Orion a moment to recognise him. Then he noticed the scarred, brutal-looking forehead and the intense scowl.
‘Haldus,’ he growled, taking the weapon and gripping the prince’s arm. The voices in his head were now a deafening howl, joining the cry of the hounds that had gathered around him, begging him to hunt, to kill, but he managed to hold steady for a moment and stand with the loyal prince.
‘You saved me,’ he said and the eyes of the whole army settled on the glowering prince.
Haldus looked humbled and shook his head, but Orion saw the flash of recognition in his eyes.
With his eyes still locked on Haldus, Orion lifted his horn and took a deep breath.
A deafening explosion tore through the air, shaking the ground so violently that Orion was thrown sideways. He landed with a pained grunt and his horn clattered away from his fingers.
As the echoes of the blast faded, a new din rose up in its place. Orion was blinded by dust, but he could tell by the volume of the cries that both armies were howling in shock.
As the dust cleared, Ordaana looked down from her perch in Alkhor’s fist. Two great hosts looked back at her – those who would destroy and those who would preserve. She cared for neither. All that mattered was revenge.
The impact of Alkhor’s landing had left a crater and he leant back in it with a sigh, as though bathing. His flesh was starting to split and crack and Ordaana realised her time was almost up. The Plague God was about to enter the physical realm.
The two armies recovered from their shock at the arrival of Alkhor and continued the battle, lifting swords and spears and renewing the slaughter.
The flies, spores and dust thrown up by the battle made it a bewildering scene. Ordaana began to panic as she scoured the warring figures. Then she saw her. Ariel and Orion were standing not far from the fallen daemon, surrounded by asrai nobles and a bizarre menagerie of animals and tree spirits.
‘Allow me,’ chuckled Alkhor. He was now so massive that his voice caused the ground to shake. He shuffled from the crater and waded through the battle. As he moved, his slug-like bulk crushed hundreds of warriors, filling the air with screams and howls. He seemed oblivious, humming merrily as he approached the king and queen. ‘Ooh,’ he said, smiling as his skin began to fall away, revealing something oily and green beneath.
‘No!’ cried Ordaana drawing the blade. ‘Not until I have my revenge!’ Ariel, Orion and the others were rushing towards her, raising weapons and mouthing spells.
Alkhor was moving with surprising speed and she could already see Ariel’s hateful face. Her mind whirled with sounds and visions. She saw everything she had done to reach this point. As the battle raged around her, the voices of the dying and injured rose up to haunt her. She heard names, cried out in pain and grief. They twisted her thoughts like a drug. So many names. So many memories. So many deaths. Only revenge could justify so many wrongs. Magic swirled around her like the clouds of flies and she felt her body change. As her mind slipped between present and past, her flesh did the same – alternating between a bloated fly-creature and beautiful noblewoman.
Ariel was flying now, rushing towards her.
Alkhor was laughing so hard, Ordaana struggled to keep her balance. His body was breaking apart – revealing something even larger, something coiled within him.
Ordaana took a deep breath and rose up on her six legs. Her body changed again and she was standing on two legs – her slender, asrai body intact once more, draped in the shreds of a lemon-coloured dress. She shook her head to try to clear her thoughts. It did not matter who she was, her purpose was the same.
She drew back her knife as Ariel approached.
The cries of the dying pounded against her and then, with a stomach-churning jolt, she heard the one name she did not expect.
‘Alhena!’ cried a voice from somewhere below.
‘Mother!’ screamed another voice.
Ordaana froze.
Alkhor laughed harder as his skin peeled away from his guts. The smell grew worse as something began dragging itself into the world.
Ariel frowned and hovered in the air, her spell left incomplete.
Ordaana ran along one of Alkhor’s talons and looked down into the crowds. Figures were rushing back and forth, hacking, stabbing and fleeing, but one of them was standing stock still, staring up at her. It was a young, female wardancer, surrounded by a small group of her kinsmen. She had a shaven head, blood splattered across her chest and a look of horrified shock on her face. Her features were horribly familiar. Ordaana felt as though she was looking into a mirror.
‘No,’ breathed Ordaana. ‘It cannot be. It can’t be her.’
Alkhor tried to stifle his laughter. ‘Your chance is almost up.’ He grinned as his face started to slide away. ‘In fact, I think you’re out of time, my queen.’
The clouds grew even darker and Alkhor’s voice shifted into such a low register that the ground shook in response. ‘HE IS HERE.’
Ordaana’s eyes stayed locked on Alhena’s face. ‘You are alive,’ she whispered, numb with shock. ‘I did not kill you.’
Ariel looked in confusion from Ordaana to the wardancer below, her spell still stalled on her lips.
As Alkhor’s flesh bubbled and changed, a dreadful, sulphurous stink filled the air. Ordaana looked around, as though seeing the garden for the first time. The hole in the sky was even wider now and hundreds of daemons were pouring into the world.
‘What have I done?’ she whispered. Her daughter still lived. And now, thanks to Ordaana, her world was about to be destroyed. ‘What have I done?’ she repeated, lifting the silver knife towards her own throat.
‘Alhena!’ howled voices from below.
She looked down and saw that her daughter was surrounded by daemons but unwilling to withdraw. The other wardancers were begging her to flee but she was motionless – staring up at her with such hurt in her eyes that Ordaana sobbed. Her daughter was alive. For all these years Alhena had survived without her love and now she was about to be destroyed by a daemon Ordaana had unleashed.
Something swam up from the depths of Ordaana’s memory. A glimpse of hope. She turned, scampered along Alkhor’s arm and plunged the silver knife into the daemon’s face.
Orion barged and jostled his way through the battling figures, making for the daemon. Ariel was already there, hovering near the thing’s face but, for some reason sh
e had failed to act. Other spellweavers had joined her in the sky but she had signalled that they should not attack.
He broke into the open space near the daemon’s enormous hooves. A terrible stench hit him and he gagged, stumbling backwards.
Haldus, Mälloch and the other nobles were there to steady him and he pressed on through the stink, still clutching the spear Haldus had given him.
The mountain of blubber towered over him as he approached and, when he was still thirty feet away, it let out a shrill, panicked shriek – quite unlike the low rumbles it had previously emitted.
Orion looked up and saw that a noblewoman had somehow reached the daemon’s face. She was hacking at its flesh with a silver blade.
The huge daemon screamed again, crushing the noblewoman in its fist and hurling her to the ground.
A wardancer, standing just a few feet from Orion howled out in grief, but he had no time to wonder why. The daemon was moving, launching itself back into the air, all the while letting out a horrified, keening wail.
Ariel and the other sorcerers moved closer, but Alkhor lifted his huge iron sword and thousands of crows poured from the rusted blade, battering against the spellweavers and thrashing wildly in their faces and robes. Ariel and her handmaidens fell back, struggling against the clouds of birds.
Alkhor pounded his ragged wings and began flying back towards the centre of the garden.
Orion whirled around, looking for a way to follow.
‘My lord!’ cried Haldus, pointing up through the clouds.
Orion looked up and saw Haldus’s enormous warhawk, Nuin, swooping towards him.
