She came to a stumbling halt.
Darkness surrounded her. It was impenetrable and it made no sense. For so long that Melisse could almost not remember it ever being otherwise, the night held no mysteries for her and her vision was as acute as in daylight.
The fire that burned in her had made it so, in the same way that when she set her mind to it, she moved so swiftly that the human eye could not see her. She would become but a wild breeze blowing down a dusty road when no other wind stirred.
As she journeyed in the time following her visit to the broken tower of the Alchemist, Melisse had moved more slowly than was necessary and when she sensed the presence of other travelers coming upon her, she simply drifted off the road, preferring to walk softly among thick trees and listen to the scratching sounds of animals who paid her no mind.
Those moments were a comfort to her, reminding her of a time that seemed centuries past to her now. A time when no one paid her any mind, not even herself.
She moved more slowly than she should have. She knew this. But the task that lay ahead of her was a terrible thing that weighed more heavily in her mind with each passing day.
And with each day that it was left undone, she knew that a terrible wound upon the face of the land grew, taking the lives of everyone and everything it touched. Nothing would stop it, but for one simple, horrid act, and that undertaking had fallen to Melisse and no other.
The idea of it slowed her steps until she walked at a pace like any other traveler, and despite the urgency, she tarried at times under leafy canopies, pretending for a short while that magic had not come to live within her like an infernal, ravening beast should she let her guard down for even an instant.
They had been yet several leagues in the distance when Melisse sensed them. Doubtless a family for she knew they numbered seven, with two of them older than the rest and of opposite sex.
She resisted the temptation to stay where she was for if she simply stood still they would be upon her in a matter of hours, perhaps as soon as two and certainly less than three. They might then decide to strike camp as the day would be nearly spent and then they might offer to share their meal with the strange woman they had found standing on the same road they traveled.
They would remark that her high boots were not covered in dust like their own. If it rained, they would see that she remained dry, as if the rain did not dare to fall upon her and incur her wrathful fire.
Despite their best intentions and desire, perhaps, to share a meal with Melisse, they would soon decide that there was something very wrong in what they had chosen to do, however good and charitable their hearts. They would learn that they had invited mortal peril into their midst and that their very lives hung in the balance.
Melisse resisted the temptation to be a girl like any other, if only for a few moments in the company of simple folk. She removed herself from their path and thus took the danger of her savage magic into the wilderlands, far from people like she had once been.
Something struck her face. It was soft and leathery. She touched her cheek and felt moisture there while the darkness enveloping her remained more absolute than any other she had known for months.
She reached for the fire burning within her. She required light to see where she was, for it seemed to her that it had only been a short time since she decided to sit down next to a broken tree. She remembered leaning against it and closing her eyes, wishing for some semblance of sleep to carry her away.
But she did not remember rising to walk in the absence of any light whatsoever.
Melisse searched within herself, her control tightened to allow just a single white hot flame out of its prison and light the way before her.
She stretched her hand out, palm up, and where she expected to see the fire bloom, Melisse saw nothing at all.
Panic shook her.
Her mind plunged deep within the mental prison she had made for the magic inhabiting her, yet all she found was its complete and final absence, all gone cold.
Then under her feet, the ground shook.
The trembling earth beneath her feet reminded her of when the old gypsy woman had called an ancient beast to her before unleashing it into the unsuspecting world.
The old woman had lost her life in the effort it cost her.
And Melisse had known true fear as the dark beast rose like a giant in that rain-soaked night, pounding with its great hooves a drumbeat rhythm that shook the ground and froze her in place.
This was like that.
It comes for me now that my magic has deserted me.
Then Melisse noted the depth of the sound was not nearly as profound as with the gypsy’s beast. The rhythm was more rapid and growing ever faster.
She froze, casting about herself, desperate to pierce the darkness so that she might choose which way to run.
Before she could decide anything, dim light bloomed in the direction of the hammer-fall sound. In a flash, Melisse saw that she stood on a narrow path and that on all sides of her, she was surrounded by enormous green leaves in a multitude of shapes that obscured everything else.
The sound grew louder. It grew to the point that she could feel it more than hear it, the drumbeat hammering its rhythm so loudly that it drowned out the sound of her own heart.
She could not move. Horror held her fast.
Then the leaves in front of her exploded as she crouched down in a movement inspired more by instinct than by reason.
What came next, Melisse recognized. What she did not recognize was the absolute ferocity written upon its scaled face.
An enormous lizard burst from the underbrush. Its hide was dark brown, just as she remembered it, and the source of the pounding rhythm still vibrating in the ground came from the six legs it galloped upon.
When Melisse had last seen the beast, it had worn an enormous grin that might have been friendliness if it had not revealed the multitude of shining fangs lining its jaws.
Now, though, it did not grin. Its mouth was closed as it bore down upon her, its vision fixed while its limbs carried it forward lightning quick.
She could do nothing as it came for her and at the last possible moment, the lizard opened wide its maw and Melisse squeezed shut her own eyes.
Then silence filled in the darkness.
Suddenly, from all around her, the leafy environs exploded in a panoply of war drums pounding out a rhythm from all directions.
Melisse opened her eyes and in exaggerated slowness, she saw the lizard in the air above her, making a great arching bound over her before landing behind her.
She craned her neck around to discover that the light had grown and that behind her was, in fact, a large clearing amongst the dense greenery.
And in that flash of vision no longer veiled by darkness, Melisse saw a sort of primitive amphitheater ringed by what must have been hundreds of lizards similar to the brown that had hurtled over her. The center of their focus was on a single, much larger beast.
Its color was bright green and vivid orange streaked its body.
Warpaint, Melisse thought.
It was in the center of the amphitheater and when it saw the smaller, brown lizard coming, it reared up, showing itself to be even bigger than Melisse had first supposed.
The drumbeats surged and she understood that they were not drums at all, but the tails of all the assembled lizards pounding upon the ground.
The brown lizard reached their midst then burst through them, forcing its way forward into the rough circle surrounding what was surely their champion awaiting its next challenger.
Melisse remembered how skilled it had been against the feathered monster that had come to kill her and the Marechal in the abattoir. She remembered the way that it had looked at her, its jaws open, as if grinning with delight. She recalled its startling efficiency as it battled with supreme confidence before the feathered demon took flight at last, cowed and beaten.
Here, though, it seemed pitifully overmatched, its imminent failure
written in the posture of the hulking lizard waiting for it.
Melisse could not look away, even if she feared she was about to see its demise. And the brown lizard never slowed its pace racing forward toward its inevitable doom.
In the instant it entered the circle, she saw two things at once. The larger, green beast rose even higher upon two legs, supporting itself with its tail, while it spread its two pairs of clawed arms wide.
And she saw the brown lizard leap into the air once more, but this time as it flew at its opponent, it came down with its own tail in its mouth, making of itself a wheel that hammered into the abdomen of the green lizard.
The champion toppled over and then Melisse could not make out anything very clearly in the moments that followed, only a seething, whirling mass made by two bodies, one green, the other brown, twining around and around, spinning and rolling in a frenetic violence unlike anything she had ever seen.
It was horrible. It was inhuman.
Suddenly the drumbeat rhythm went silent, replaced by a rustling sound of the spectators rising for a better look.
The two combatants went still.
A green tail rose in the air, quivering, then fell down with a thump.
The spectators let out a collective hiss.
Melisse followed the contours of the two respective bodies with her eyes, one green, the other brown, then she made out at last the head of the brown, its jaws wrapped around the neck of the green. The only sign of life that either of them gave was the brown lizard’s jaw clenching tighter from time to time.
She blinked her eyes, her vision growing dim, then darkness rushed in and filled all.
There was nothing until a voice spoke, not in her ears, but in her mind.
I was not the biggest. Nor was I the strongest. Yet I bested a champion and all others that followed. Most often it was through ruse and guile, but that is where I am perhaps most gifted.
It sufficed, and in the end I was Chosen.
Melisse shook her head. She tried to speak, to demand that the strange voice release her for its words meant nothing to her.
Her efforts to refuse the voice fell still when she heard what next it had to say.
I dared not seek you out except here in this place of dreaming. Your power is beyond my ken and the danger too great, for it is a savagery akin to that of the thieving Estril, yet unlike them, you did not seek it out and thus are no enemy of mine.
Here we both dream and you hear my words in the same way that I so often attempted with the undying man. However, despite all my efforts, he remains as deaf to me as at the moment of our first encounter.
The hour grows late and I am not skilled enough in the ways of dreamspeak to hold for very long.
Listen now.
Whether her head moved in the real world, somewhere far away, Melisse did not know, but in her mind she nodded, rapt with attention for what the beast said.
The task he has set himself nears its accomplishment. At its end, his suffering will only augment.
I owe him a great deal. My gratitude knows no bounds and if that means he should be brought to you so that you might at last set him free, then it is with great joy and honor that I accept to do this thing.
Please allow me this chance for reciprocation in the undying man’s fate.
Melisse strained to respond.
— I don’t understand. What has made you so beholding to him? —
Not beholding. Rather simple gratitude requiring repayment in kind.
For generations, my people have not known the glory of battle with our ancient enemy. The undying man was seen by the twelve Elders — sages who divined his coming in the burnt bones of our ancestors. He has been known to them for centuries and that with him would follow our last and only chance to live again, to truly live with the sport of battle burning through our veins as we bring our adversaries to heel with our might.
My people have lost their compass. Our existence is without meaning. The undying man led me to you, and thus to the beast called the Evangeline by its masters. Thanks to the swordsman, I am the first Flail in generations who has been blooded in true battle.
Upon my return to my home, I will be elevated to the caste of Scourge, unlike any other of my kind for so very long.
It is for this that I did not leave his side once the onus of your pursuit had come to its end. I chose to watch over him from the shadows, hoping that circumstances would allow repayment.
Little did I know that it would be through you, yet again, that my greatest desire should be answered.
Do not trouble yourself. In due course, I shall do what is necessary.
He will be brought to the wastes surrounding the fallen tower. This, I shall not fail.
Then it shall fall to you to end his misery when no one else in this world or any other can.
Melisse reached out, whether it was to thank the lizard or to curse it, she did not know. However, the presence was gone.
She opened her eyes into a world of darkness, but it was the kind that held no mysteries, for her power once again lived and burned within her.
Melisse looked skyward, searching the stars for some answer. Then she sighed and turned in the direction that would lead her home.
It was a path that would lead her to her half-sister and to a reckoning from which she knew neither of them would pass unscathed.
Chapter Four — Alexandre
The scarred man stood in front of a large wooden door and clenched his hands into fists.
Voices rose and fell behind that door. What he heard was muffled, unintelligible, for the door was of massive oak, the kind of construction meant to rebuff any intruder.
And it was all that stood between him and the couple made by Durban Keld and his wife.
The merchant had arrived late in the evening. Alexandre could see that the overweight man was dusty and road weary, however, anger burned in his black eyes as he stormed past the scarred man while demanding for his wife to attend to him at once.
Alexandre had signaled to a serving girl, and she had run off in search of Lady Keld without delay.
However, the dark mood of the master of the house only grew darker with each passing minute, for Lady Keld had taken her time before answering his summons.
The husband and wife had exchanged cold stares when they had come face to face, and Alexandre could only watch as they went into a large receiving room before closing the oak door behind them.
The scarred man examined the door idly while evident sounds of heated argument reached his ears.
He doubted that he could shoulder it open, for he believed he had heard a locking timber fall into place once it had closed.
As for its hinges, the principal point of weakness in any door, those were inset on the inside of the door, the wrong side as it were and out of his reach.
Alexandre could do nothing but wait and when he heard the unmistakable sound of a woman's shriek, he spun round searching for something, anything at all to bring that door down.
His own sword was too light for hacking oak to pieces, but the halberd hung high on the wall opposite the door would serve.
Doubtless some sort of trophy bought and paid for, its owner never imagining to what use a seasoned swordsman might have for it.
Another high pitched scream followed by a man's bellow and Alexandre's short sword, a main-gauche, was drawn and readied to be thrown at the highest cord fastening the halberd out of reach on the wall.
A quick flip into the air, and the business end of what amounted to an overlong dagger was between the swordsman's fingers.
He cocked his arm and took careful aim so that when thrown, the weapon would cleave the cord as cleanly as possible, for Alexandre did not carry a second knife upon his person.
Before he could let fly, he heard the sound of the cross beam being lifted and allowed to fall, clattering to the floor.
Then the oak door was slammed wide upon its hinges as the merchant Durban Keld emerged with his olive-sk
inned face then scarlet with rage.
Upon seeing Alexandre, he took a full step backward and whatever he had been about to shout in anger fell silent when he spied the weapon in Alexandre's hand.
"And what are you planning to do with that?" the merchant breathed, then without waiting for Alexandre to reply, he said, "Presenting your arms to me at this point will do you no good."
The scarred man did not reply. Instead he flipped the weapon lightly over, its hilt slapping into his palm before he slipped it smoothly back into its scabbard.
Durban Keld nodded.
"Very well. Your services here are no longer required. You are to quit the premises at once or I shall send the house guard to see that you do. And believe me, they will be under orders to keep their swords drawn and to use them if need be."
Alexandre held his tongue while looking past his former employer as if the man did not exist.
What he saw was the figure of Lady Keld on her knees in the room beyond. Her head was bent and her body shook from time to time as sobs wracked her.
The scarred man narrowed his eyes as he saw her lift her face to look at him. His eyes widened as he saw the runnel of blood that ran from the corner of her mouth.
In a flash, he closed the distance between himself and the merchant.
The next instant saw him standing close enough to the swarthy man as to kiss him. One of his hands held the back of Durban Keld's head, the other held the short sword, once again drawn, its gleaming point a finger's breadth from one of the merchant's eyes.
"If you dare hurt her again, I will see both your eyes skewered upon this blade," he hissed between thinned lips at the merchant.
Then he felt something hard and cold at his ribs.
Alexandre glanced down to see a black, wide-bladed knife that the merchant held against him, poised to drive in hard and fast no matter what he might have done.
"That would be fitting, wouldn't it?" Durban Keld said. "A blade to match the one you have already driven into my back while I was away."
The scarred man hesitated, his focus coming back to take in the trembling man before him.
The Marechal Chronicles: Volume VI, The Crucible: A Dark Fantasy Tale Page 5
