Gloomwalker

by Alex Lang

  The lord governor looked to Caldir. “Yes. The nightspawn. Your mysterious associate. Whom you have not helped in locating.”

  Caldir shrugged, then winced, regretting the gesture. “A henchman,” he croaked, his throat still raw from screaming the days prior. “With no more loyalty than the weight of my coin purse.”

  Velledon narrowed his eyes at him.

  “What will you tell the archon?” Rexam asked. His voice matched his appearance, heavy and rough.

  “I will tell him the truth of the matter,” Velledon said. “This was an effort to recapture stolen relics. And the talks of a nightspawn are unsubstantiated. After all, we have nothing to show for it.” He paced a bit, then stared off into the upper sections of the amphitheater. “We have to keep things contained. We can’t have the Path stirring up a furor. Not now.” He said the last as if to himself.

  The lord governor gave a frustrated sigh. “My patience wears thin, Caldir. I will have my answers today. If you cooperate and speak truthfully, then all this needless suffering will end. I swear it. If not, I will have Ortan remove bits and pieces until there is nothing left of you but a stump. I will have the same done to the others; the Marlander, the old man, and the others.”

  Caldir tried to remain impassive, but he must have revealed something as the lord governor’s expression lifted in revelation.

  “Oh, is that it? You care for the welfare of your comrades over your own?” the lord governor’s tone was one of incredulity. “I must say, I’m surprised. I had thought you criminal types to be… less sentimental. Very well, then. The others will suffer the same fate if you are not fully forthcoming. Let’s start with the nightspawn, this Kyris of Yond. Tell me how to find—”

  The lord governor gasped.

  A sudden shiver shot through Caldir, followed by the high-pitched ring of metal striking metal reverberating through the chamber.

  Kyris stood behind Lord Rexam, his sword against the man’s armored shoulder. “Shit,” Kyris cursed, then vanished.

  In the Gloom, Kyris ran for the chamber’s arched main entrance and reassessed the situation. He had aimed for the Boneclad’s head, hoping to remove the most dangerous threat with one stroke, but the man had veered to the side at the last moment so the blade struck the armored shoulder instead. Kyris had found that most people reacted to fear, Gloom-induced or otherwise, in two ways. Some froze, stunned with inaction, while others were spurred to move, even if they knew not what to act against. It would seem Lord Rexam was of the latter variety.

  Kyris read confusion in the motions of those in the large chamber, but it didn’t take long for Rexam to impose order. The Boneclad had a large scimitar drawn and gestured towards the main entrance. Lord Governor Velledon, Gilvys, and the two guardsmen ran towards it and Kyris, just as he had anticipated.

  Kyris waited for the right moment, then reappeared in the midst of the group, attacking the guardsmen. He swung low with his shortsword, then lunged high with his dagger. Both guardsmen went down, one with a deep gash in his thigh and the other dead, with the dagger buried in his cheek.

  The lord governor and Gilvys stared at him, both apparently of the former type when dealing with fear. Velledon regained composure first, turning to continue his flight.

  Kyris ran forward, drew and threw a knife at the fleeing governor, then swung at Gilvys. The knife caught Velledon in the thigh, and he stumbled to the ground with a cry. Gilvys, reacting faster than Kyris thought the man capable of, managed to lean away from the swipe, the blade missing by a finger’s length.

  Before Kyris could follow-up with another attack, he both heard and felt the charging Boneclad coming from behind. He fled to the Gloom. The silence was absolute, and a heartbeat later, a hazy scimitar swiped through him, back and forth. Rexam performed a series of wide swings, as if testing whether Kyris was gone or simply invisible.

  A wraith flickered into view a pace away, its jaw yawning wide in a silent scream.

  Kyris had forgone his usual attempts at stealth. Having committed on this course, his biggest fear was that he would be too late. He’d gone through the front doors of the building with Ellse close behind. When they had come upon a hallway splitting their path, Ellse suggested the same, each going their own way. He wasn’t sure of the idea, but Ellse didn’t ask his opinion before she ran down the left route. Her altered appearance wasn’t the only thing different about her, but he didn’t know if that was just her feeling towards him now or something else. Two trips to the Gloom and four guardsmen later, he’d come upon Caldir.

  He unfastened the straps over his shoulder and pulled free the relic-spear. It seemed he would get another opportunity to test it against the wraiths.

  He took a moment to gather himself, holding the two weapons. Baaz’s shortsword in his right hand was familiar, proper, an extension of himself. The relic, in his left. All relics were said to be stronger than normal steel, yet he didn’t trust the odd glass blade not to shatter further if he was to strike anything more substantial than a wraith.

  Kyris had explored and tested the relic a bit, discovering that when he held it, there was another presence within his mind, in addition to the doorway to the Gloom. It was muted and obscure, easily overlooked, which he had done when he first held the relic within the artificer vault. It reminded him of the other presence felt only from within the Gloom, and because of that, it had taken him some time to work up the courage to grasp with his mind. When he did, both the broken blade of the spear and the stone pommel had begun to glow as before, confirming that the effect wasn’t relegated to the Gloom. The strange red glow, however, behaved differently outside the Gloom. Instead of drifting or floating, it dripped to the ground like syrup, hissing upon contact.

  Feeling this new presence had stirred a memory. The plain wooden doorway represented the Gloom or the world of light, depending on which side he viewed things, but it hadn’t always been like that. When he and Jahna had first discovered their ability, it had no form. It was undefined, an aura, near but out of reach. It was a nagging notion, the feeling that something important had been forgotten. It was only over time that the Gloom-presence became more, as if the mind required a solid concept in order to better grasp a hold of it. For Jahna, her portal had looked like a tall standing mirror that she had seen in a shop once.

  Remembering this, Kyris did the same to the relic-presence with surprising success. He pictured it as the weapon was in life. With it defined, things had come easy. There was a connection between the weapon and the Gloom, or perhaps the process of accessing the Gloom. With a small amount of practice, he’d managed to gain a bit of control, so that he could shift to the Gloom and back and not activate the strange liquid glow, or activate only the weapon without shifting. Given how the red substance had burned him just as much as the wraiths, he’d kept it dormant for now.

  Kyris ran to stand next to Caldir’s shadow-form at the center of the chamber, and when he felt he was a safe distance from the Boneclad, he shifted.

  Caldir startled, and Rexam, who had taken up position in front of the governor, whirled to face him. The guardsman with the thigh wound was crawling towards the chamber exit, but judging by the amount of blood he was losing, Kyris didn’t expect the man to get far. Velledon, with Gilvys’s help, had pulled the knife from his leg and was struggling to his feet, his face contorted in pain.

  Lord Rexam held his sword ready but did not approach.

  Kyris kept his eyes fixed on the Boneclad as he spoke. “Caldir, I assume you are in no position to free yourself?”

  “I am afraid not. This is a rescue?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “The others?”

  “You’re my first stop.”

  “Come, little man,” the Boneclad spoke in a deep, gruff voice. “Fight me without your tricks.”

  Kyris almost laughed. “And why would I ever want to do that?”

  “Because if you disappear again, I will remove his head,” Rexam answered, poin
ting his scimitar at Caldir.

  That would be a problem. Kyris considered bluffing that Caldir held no value, but then the Boneclad might just run him through for good measure.

  “Very well. As long as he lives, I stay… visible. Let’s have at it, then.”

  Facing the Boneclad head-on seemed like certain suicide, but in an effort to buy some time to think, Kyris moved away from Caldir towards the side of the oval chamber.

  When the path was clear, the Boneclad charged.

  Kyris retreated, dodging to the side to avoid a thrust, then leaping back out of the arc of the follow-up swing. He brought his shortsword up to block a downward chop, and the strength of the strike almost tore Baaz’s blade from his hand. It sent painful reverberations up his arm, enough so that he wouldn’t be attempting that again. He threw his two knives at Rexam’s head, in an effort to slow the Boneclad or perhaps be blessed by Shar with a miracle. One was blocked, bouncing harmlessly off a gauntlet, and the other was dodged. Kyris held in his curse and kept falling back, leading Rexam towards the far end of the room.

  The Boneclad glanced back at Caldir, but true to his word, he did not attack.

  Velledon was standing, leaning on Gilvys, and though the lord governor was in obvious pain, he seemed fascinated. That he hadn’t escaped the chamber was telling. Perhaps Velledon had the utmost confidence in Rexam to be victorious. It certainly didn’t look good for Kyris.

  An idea occurred to him then, and he said, “You assume I’m here for Caldir and not the governor.” He gave his best smug smile, then shifted to the Gloom.

  Rexam whirled immediately, either believing Kyris’s claim or deciding to kill Caldir for breaking the agreement.

  In the Gloom, wraiths began appearing all around him, but it didn’t matter. Kyris wasn’t staying long. The plan wasn’t very original, but it was tried and true. He shifted back to the exact place where he had been before, then lunged. With Rexam leaning away in mid-stride, Kyris aimed for the back of a leg, below the chain skirt, and struck true behind a knee.

  But instead of falling, the Boneclad grunted and spun, swinging a gauntleted fist wide at him. Kyris crossed sword and spear and blocked the blow, but the impact sent him staggering back.

  Lord Rexam thrust the scimitar forward to skewer him, but Kyris was already retreating into the Gloom.

  He found himself encircled by wraiths, and with a scream of desperation and defiance, Kyris grasped the relic-presence and started wildly swinging.

  It was an utter chaos of black, flowing mist, grasping and lashing claws, and sprays of burning-red liquid. Kyris swung and thrust, cutting and stabbing at the wraiths from all sides, and he kept screaming, as did the wraiths, the human and unearthly wails intermingling.

  Then it stopped. It took his mind a few breaths to reconstruct and process what had occurred. Fighting the wraiths wasn’t like fighting a proper opponent. There was nothing solid to block or strike. In some ways, it was more like practicing his forms and stances, just performed as fast as he could possibly do them.

  Kyris was certain, as within the temple, he had ‘killed’ a few of the wraiths.

  They had fled up against the ceiling and the edge of the chamber, giving him a radius of clear space aside from the strings of tattered, glowing energy drifting down towards the ground all around him.

  The relic-spear was glowing bright, and more of the strange, burning ribbons oozed out and floated, as if fabric caught by some ethereal wind.

  Kyris cried out as pain registered all across his body. He had not escaped the frenzy unharmed. It felt as though his entire body was on fire, and at a glance, he realized it had been. Whether from the touch of the wraiths or the burning strips from the spears, his body was crisscrossed with burns.

  Kyris looked up to see Rexam standing in front of Caldir with the scimitar’s point against the man’s chest.

  It looked as though the Boneclad was waiting. Waiting for him to reappear, most likely, no doubt after issuing an ultimatum Kyris couldn’t hear, even if he hadn’t been preoccupied with a maelstrom of wraiths.

  Kyris leaped over the last of the falling ribbons, then charged headlong towards Rexam. He did have the presence of mind to keep the broken spear out to the side so the wafting red ribbons wouldn’t drift back onto him as he ran.

  A hulking brute of a wraith separated from the rest and dove for him, black hands outstretched. It was blocking his way to Rexam. Kyris let loose a guttural shout, slid low under the hands, then brought the relic-spear up into the center of the wraith’s body. Where the glass blade and strange energy touched, the black mist that made up the wraiths was scoured away. It was as the wraith burned that Kyris saw the face, more human than all the others, the semblance of its past still discernible. The wraith that was Mannahar gave a deafening shriek as Kyris leapt through it and shifted, appearing in front of the Boneclad.

  He had no time to think on what he’d just witnessed. Using his momentum, he smashed the relic-spear down against the gauntleted hand holding the scimitar and stabbed forward at Rexam’s head with Baaz’s shortsword.

  The first strike was a success as sparks of red flew and the scimitar clanged against the ground, along with some armored fingers. But the second attack was stopped when the Boneclad brought his other arm up to block. With a sharp ping, the tip of the Baaz’s blade snapped as it struck armor.

  The Boneclad glanced at his hand, short of three fingers, as if it were only an annoyance. Although he did back up, eying the relic-spear with something resembling respect, if not outright fear.

  Kyris reeled in his shock, resolving to processing it all later. He needed to press the attack. Dropping his shortsword, he gripped the relic-spear with both hands and leapt forward, bringing the weapon down in an overhead stab. It struck Rexam in the armored breastbone, the thick Loddsteel stopping the attack, but the glass blade had found purchase, digging in. Rexam grabbed the shaft of the spear with his remaining good hand, while Kyris pressed, leaning with all his weight, hoping to reach the real bone beneath.

  The Boneclad was incredibly strong, and with one arm, he’d not only stopped Kyris but was succeeding in pulling the spearhead from his chest-plate.

  Kyris screamed again, refusing to be dislodged. He pressed harder and grasped at the relic-presence, tighter, as though he would drop into oblivion if he were to let go. The broken blade flared, the red growing brighter, and it sunk in further.

  Rexam’s eyes grew wide, as he no doubt felt the effects.

  A fist, or rather what remained of the armored hand, smashed into Kyris’ ribs. He cried out but didn’t let go. Again, a blow struck, and this time he was certain something inside had broken. He clutched the spear and the relic-presence, pushing on the physical while pulling and stoking the red energy within his mind. For a moment, he felt as though this power would consume him, just as Mannahar had been, but it was too late to stop.

  Rexam tried to pull away, but Kyris freed a hand to catch hold of the man’s armor, and he clung on like a tick. He received punches to head and body all the while. The presence of the Gloom called to him, an easy escape from the pain, but he would not run, not this time. He would finish this.

  Rexam changed tack, releasing his hold on the handle and wrapping his hand around Kyris’ throat, instead. The Boneclad squeezed, cutting off all air.

  The pressure upon his neck triggered a panic in him, but he couldn’t escape into the Gloom with Rexam affixed.

  He was simultaneously being choked and beaten to death.

  Without any other options, Kyris continued to push, determined that his last act would be to kill Rexam. The relic-spear pierced deeper and deeper in meager increments earned despite repeated punches and crushing pain. His vision narrowed, and his head felt as though it would burst like a grape.

  The Boneclad dropped to his knees, and the hammering at Kyris slowed, then stopped.

  The Boneclad’s grip loosened a little, but it was enough for Kyris to draw in ragged breaths, gasping as
his heartbeat pounded in his head.

  Rexam threw back his head and opened his mouth, but there was no scream. Instead, a bright glow emitted from within him. A burning red light shone from his mouth.

  Kyris tried to recoil, but he was still being held by Rexam’s hand. He released the hold upon the relic-presence, and the light faded.

  Rexam’s head sagged. His eyes had been scorched out, and the skin around his mouth had been burned black.

  Kyris felt sickened, not at the fate of the man but of the method in which he’d died. With some effort, he managed to peel back the fingers and free himself.

  He tried to pull the relic-spear from Rexam’s chest but found the weapon stuck firm, having penetrated all the way through to the back. Kyris set a foot against the breast plate and pulled with all the strength he had left, but only after activating the relic again was he able to free it.

  Rexam collapsed to the floor with a heavy clang.

  The world had closed in during their struggle, but now Kyris surveyed the room, processing it all as though seeing it for the first time. Caldir, strapped to the chair, unharmed, or at least not more harmed than when he’d first arrived, watched him with astonishment and concern. One dead guardsman. The other with the leg injury had made it out of the chamber but no farther. Kyris was surprised to see both Velledon and Gilvys still present.

  He took slow, deliberate steps towards them, trying his best not to sway, fearing any such motion would cause him to collapse. He also tried to hide his pain from showing but was sure that was only half successful, as a clenched-jaw grimace seemed the only expression he could manage.

  “How? What… what are you?” Velledon asked.

  Kyris had no answer for the man. He lifted the relic-spear as he drew closer.

  The lord governor’s eyes were transfixed on the weapon, but it seemed to dawn on him only then what Kyris was intending. “Wait! No. No!” The highborn shoved Gilvys forward as a shield or a would-be protector, and the scribe appeared confused as to what to do.