by Giles Carwyn
Gavin and Gareth stood to Faedellin’s left. The young twins of the House of Winter held two of Ohndarien’s five gemswords. Ossamyr had helped Shara create the magical weapons, imbuing each with a shard of the Heartstone. They could not match the original Swords of the Seasons in power or beauty, but they were effective at killing the corrupted.
To Faedellin’s right stood his son, Astor, who also bore one of the magical swords. Except for his wavy brown hair, the new Heir of Autumn was the spitting image of his cousin. Ossamyr found it difficult to look at him without thinking of Brophy.
Astor was humble and brave, quick to smile and talented with a blade, but he had only recently come of age and had just been accepted into the Lightning Swords. Ossamyr could see the doubt and fear written on the boy’s face and sent a gentle caress of energy to ease his racing heart.
“Look at the man beside you,” Faedellin shouted. “Look at the lass to your right.” His troops did as they were told, their grim faces full of love. Ossamyr looked to Caleb and squeezed his hand. Their Zelani magic hummed through them like a swarm of bees.
“We do not go out there alone,” Faedellin continued. “We stand together for our families, for each other, for Ohndarien, for the light!” Ossamyr kept the energy playing back and forth between herself and Caleb, and sent a steady stream of it toward Faedellin, adding power to his voice.
“Will we fail those standing beside us?” he shouted.
“No!” The Lightning Swords shouted as one, and she could feel their voices thrumming through her chest.
“Will we run from the face of darkness?”
“No!”
He pointed behind himself to the Hall of Windows. “Will we let that light go out?”
“No! No! No!” they shouted, and Ossamyr added her voice to their song.
Faedellin gave the signal, and the Quarry Gate began to open. Huge metal gears ground together as the counterweights moved. The metal doors swung outward. With a united cry, the Lightning Swords and Zelani moved as one. They rushed into the darkness of the tunnel that cut through Ohndarien’s massive wall.
They emerged in the quarry on the far side of the wall. Ten of the Lightning Swords held torches, creating a ring of light twenty feet out. Cunning metal dishes directed torchlight down from the wall above them, casting murky shadows along the stretch of flat marble. The quarry floor continued to the perfect stair-steps of blue-white stone that extended up the side of the mountain and out of sight.
The Lightning Swords rushed forward over the well-known ground and spread out in a precise arc, with the Zelani behind them. Pronged spears bristled.
Silence greeted them, but everyone remained tense and ready. Corrupted could come from the sky, the water, or overland, and they took every shape imaginable. Faedellin counseled constant assessment to his Lightning Swords. Assess, attack, reassess, attack again. Defend yourself first, he’d told them over and over again. Patience was their greatest weapon against the mindless beasts. Patience and discipline. There was no such thing as a predictable enemy.
Magic hummed in Ossamyr’s ears as the Zelani all around her let their power flow into the soldiers, adding to their strength, their speed, their conviction. Astor was the closest man to her with a gemsword. She concentrated her power on him, and he turned back to give her a manic grin, his whole body shaking with energy.
Ossamyr closed her eyes, sending out a tendril of her awareness. Her magic rushed up the carved cliffs, up into the darkness beyond the rise.
“There,” she pointed. “Two large ones. Coming fast!”
“Separate them!” Faedellin shouted, his deep voice ringing across the distance. “Those on the flanks hold back, watch for others!”
A gurgling roar thundered down the quarry, echoing off the wall behind them. Two hulking shapes rolled over the lip of the quarry and dropped to the stair-step of rock just below. She could barely see them in the darkness until they gathered their bulk and launched themselves forward, flapping their tails as if swimming in water.
The massive black shapes flew down half the quarry steps before hitting the stone and rolling the rest of the way. They crashed to the quarry floor and slid into the midst of the Lightning Swords, scattering them like pebbles.
Ossamyr ran to one side, losing hold of Caleb’s hand. She dodged around the retreating soldiers, desperate to stay on her feet. The defenders gathered their courage and plunged their fifteen-foot spears into the thrashing black shapes.
“By the Seasons, they’re sharks,” Astor said, right next to her. His eyes were wide, but he still held his gemsword at the ready, waiting for his chance.
Ossamyr could barely recognize the creature, so complete was its transformation. Hundreds of thin tentacles had sprung from every possible place on the fish’s body. They slapped at the slick marble, desperate to propel the beast forward, but the barbed spears held it solidly in place. Crimson eyes flared behind clusters of teeth as long as Ossamyr’s fingers. Its jaws were the only part of it that still looked like a shark.
“Contain!” Faedellin shouted. “Contain and wait for the opening!”
Ossamyr fed Faedellin’s emotions into his warriors, and the soldiers split into two groups, driving the sharks back with their spears, forcing them apart.
The beast closest to her thrashed its tail frantically, knocking one soldier aside. Ossamyr sent her magic to his aid, but it was too late. A tentacle lashed out and wrapped around the man’s leg, throwing him into the monster’s mouth.
Teeth chomped, and the soldier screamed. Red blood splashed across the quarry floor.
“Contain!” Faedellin roared, but Astor charged forward. Ossamyr sent a rush of pure energy into his body as he leapt over one of the spears and sank his sword into the side of the beast’s head.
The shark’s teeth blurred in the half-light. Its jaws snapped shut on nothing, scraping Astor’s leather greaves as he leapt out of the way.
Black blood poured from the wound in the shark’s head, and. the air filled with a thousand distant voices screaming in rage.
The beast whipped about, frantic in its death throes. A hundred tentacles flailed against the ground, reaching out like fingers. The howling voices grew louder, then faded as the beast slumped to the ground, its tentacles twitching.
Ossamyr took a deep breath and turned her attention to the other shark, which had already thrown three of the Lightning Swords to the ground. Gavin and Gareth lurked at a distance, waiting for their moment. The spearmen who had pinned the first shark turned to the second one. Dozens more spears pierced its flesh. The beast would be overwhelmed in moments.
Ossamyr was about to help them when she saw Astor down on hands and knees panting uncontrollably.
She rushed to his side. “Are you all right?” she asked, checking for corruption with her magic.
“That was so dumb, so dumb,” he panted, shaking his head. “I should have waited.”
Ossamyr helped him to his feet, sending a stream of reassurance toward him.
The other beast roared, and she glanced over to see Gavin and Gareth stabbing repeatedly as fifty Lightning Swords held it down.
“You did fine,” she said. “The beast is dead, that’s all that matters.”
He nodded, dazed. “I should get my sword.”
Ossamyr walked with him as he put a foot against the dead beast’s head and yanked his sword out with both hands. Ribbons of pure black emmeria tainted the glowing gem in the pommel, enough to infect a hundred people.
Ossamyr reached out to take the sword. Astor’s job was done. Only a Zelani could add the few drops of emmeria to the malevolent ocean trapped in the boy’s dreams—
A thunderous crash shook the quarry. The ground rocked, and she nearly fell.
An earsplitting bellow shook the night, driving Ossamyr to her knees.
By the Nine! What was—
“Above! Look to the quarry!” Faedellin shouted.
An immense shape rolled over the quarry’s rim, s
tark black against the stars overhead. It was as big as the Hall of Windows and shook the earth when it shoved its girth over another stair-step, slamming down to the next level below.
Ossamyr’s breath left her as she stared. She had seen all manner of corrupted: men, women, children, twisted rock lions, horses, bears, dogs, oxen, but this…
“I think…” Astor whispered, his voice catching in his throat, his sword held in a slack grip. “I think it was a whale.”
Ossamyr fought to regain her composure, fought to gather the fleeing threads of her magic. She needed Caleb. Where was he?
“It doesn’t matter what it is,” she said, swallowing down a dry throat. “We have to stop it.”
“How?”
She looked to Faedellin and saw him frozen in disbelief as the mountainous black shape undulated down the steps toward them. She sent him a jolt of energy, and he snapped back into action.
“Form ranks,” he bellowed. “Form ranks!”
The Lightning Swords slowly started forward, forming a line of bristling spears. Astor hesitated a moment, glancing back at Ossamyr.
The whale thundered toward them, levering its body forward. Its flesh was worn away by its long trek across dry land. Dirt-caked yellow bones stuck out of its sides, and a trail of black ichor followed in its wake.
The Lightning Swords slowly retreated from the whale’s path. None had the courage to rush forward to engage it.
Ossamyr gathered her energy, wishing Caleb were closer.
“Ossamyr, look out!” Astor shouted, a second too late.
Searing pain shot up Ossamyr’s leg. She staggered backward as a tiny black fish wrapped barbed fins tightly around her calf. Its teeth burrowed into her leg again and tore away a chunk of flesh.
“No!” she roared, and fell to the ground.
“Ossamyr!” Astor rushed forward and skewered the fish with a deft flick of his blade. His gemsword blazed in the darkness. Anguished voices howled, and the beast died.
Ossamyr bit back a second scream and glanced down at the gaping wounds on her calf. Her blood was already turning black as inky tendrils crept up her leg.
“Are you all right?” he asked, falling to his knees at her side.
Ossamyr looked into Brophy’s face, his green eyes filled with dread.
No! Not Brophy! Astor! Astor! She fought her way back to her senses. The tendrils sped beneath her dress; her entire leg was black and starting to ripple.
Ossamyr shook her head, trying to clear it. Her leg was on fire, and she was starting to like it, like it a lot. She remembered her claws ripping through Phandir’s flesh; she could taste his blood pouring down her throat.
Someone else crashed down next to her, and she felt a surge of energy rush into her body, pushing the flames back down her leg. She snarled at him to stop and found Caleb kneeling next to her, adding his strength to her own.
Slowly, her head cleared. The corruption slowed, and she fought it with everything she had. Together they began to force it out of her body.
Astor looked at Ossamyr, his brown eyes full of compassion. But there was resolution, too. The pommel of his gemsword glowed. If she turned, he knew what had to be done.
“You go,” Caleb assured Astor, reaching for the pommel of the sword. “They need you over there. Leave the sword with me. I’ll see to her.”
Reluctantly, Astor nodded and ran toward the battle, snatching a discarded spear off the ground. Beyond him, the whale loomed across the entire horizon, blotting out the stars. The soldiers’ spears weren’t going to stop it; they wouldn’t be nearly long enough. Each of beast’s flippers was thirty feet long. It swung them from side to side and soldiers screamed as they were thrown about like leaves.
“Go,” Ossamyr said to Caleb through her teeth.
“Your leg—”
“Forget my leg! We’ll all be dead if you don’t help them!”
“You can’t—”
“Yes I can! Leave me the sword. I’ll do what needs to be done if I can’t hold it back.”
Caleb’s lips set in a straight line before he nodded tersely.
“Connect to the Heartstone,” he said. “Use her strength to bolster yours.”
“Of course.”
He stood up, paused only half a second, then ran toward the battle.
Ossamyr turned to her wound, throwing her full concentration into purging the emmeria from her body.
It fought back tenaciously, refusing to give up its hold on her life.
A dull spike of fear shot through her as she realized how much Caleb had been helping her. The black tendrils moved back up her leg toward the hem of her gown. Closing her eyes against the shouting soldiers, against the thundering whale and its foul stink, she pulled strength from the glowing gem in the sword. She could feel its connection to the mighty Heartstone high atop the Hall of Windows.
The earth jumped, and a boom split the air. Ossamyr jerked her head to the side. With a dozen spears buried deep in its hide, the whale had thrown itself against Ohndarien’s wall.
Soldiers shouted from the battlements. Rocks hailed down on the thing, tearing chunks from its ravaged flesh, but it didn’t seem to notice. It drew its massive tail back and slammed it against the wall once more. The world shook, and a crack appeared between the massive stones.
I know you. A throaty voice spoke in her head. We’ve danced before.
The seductive voice curled around her like a lover. The sound of it caressed her skin, making her feel warm and powerful. Ossamyr laughed, feeling stronger and stronger by the moment. She looked back to her wound and realized she’d dropped the sword. She reached for it, but it burned her, and she yanked her hand back.
Remember what we did together? You’ve never felt so good. You’ve never felt so free.
An image of Brophy’s sleeping body flashed in her mind, and she clung to it.
“No!” she whispered, pushing the voice away, but it was like fighting the ocean, trying to push back the water with your hands. She fumbled for the sword, nearly screaming as it seared her hand. Gritting her teeth, she placed the gem back on her wounds.
You don’t need that. Together we have all the power you’ll ever need. Together we can wake Brophy. He could be in your arms tonight. Yours, all yours.
No. She whimpered.
Yes…
A harsh white light flared in the distance, and she shielded her eyes. A lithe form clothed in gossamer silks flew past her, bearing a burning sword.
She has come. She will take Brophy from you. You will never get him back.
Ossamyr pulled the sword from her leg and rose to her feet.
Like a pinpoint of light in a sea of darkness, Shara stopped in front of the huge, black whale, the Sword of Winter held high above her head. The immense creature turned from the wall and bellowed at her, knocking people down with the force of its voice.
A wave of energy shot out from Shara’s chest into the warriors who fought for Ohndarien.
“The head!” Shara shouted. “Attack the head.”
The Sword of Winter flared, and the light enveloped the scattered Lightning Swords. Astor charged at the monstrosity, planting his spear in the creature’s eye. The whale flicked its snout, and he went flying. A dozen others rushed in after him.
Ossamyr’s lips pulled back away from her fangs as she shuffled forward. She raised the sword in both hands and crept behind Shara.
Yes, yes. She will take away the one you love.
Gavin and Gareth charged the whale as more defenders rushed in, pinning the beast’s head against the wall. The twins grabbed ragged flesh, protruding spears, whatever they could reach and clambered up its side. No normal human could move that fast.
The beast thrashed, trying to dislodge them, but they clung stubbornly. It yanked itself free of the spearmen, but the gemsword warriors worked their way closer and closer to its huge head.
The mistress of the Zelani held the Sword of Winter high in front of her, pommel up like a ward. G
areth’s and Gavin’s gemswords glowed in response as they stood on the creature’s neck and plunged their swords into its blubber, hacking toward the spine. The whale thrashed again, slamming its head into the wall.
Kill her, and he will be yours. He will wake, and you will have him for eternity.
A feral purr rolled out of Ossamyr’s throat. She stepped silently toward her quarry, claws sliding out of the tips of her fingers—
Shara turned, shouting a command that cut straight through her. Ossamyr froze. Sweat beaded on Shara’s brow, and her eyes were bare slits of concentration, but she turned a tight smile on the former Queen of Physendria.
“A moment, my friend,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “I will be with you shortly.”
Shara sent a surge of energy into Ossamyr, a scant diversion of the power she was funneling into the twins.
A wave of pain rushed through her, and Ossamyr dropped to the ground. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, but she could hear the Heartstone’s voice again. She fumbled toward it, searching for that voice in the darkness.
The whale’s howl twisted into a high-pitched keening. Wind whipped through the quarry, shrieking like a multitude of death screams. With one last mighty thrust against the wall, the whale crashed to the ground and lay still.
Shara slumped to her knees. The Sword of Winter clattered to the stone and dimmed like a guttering candle. The Heartstone’s song faded.
Now is your moment. Rise. Take what is yours before she takes it from you.
Ossamyr rolled drunkenly to her feet. One quick swipe. Just one, and Shara would never rise again. She lurched forward, eyes on the back of Shara’s neck.
A pronged spear hit her arm like a manacle. She snarled, turning toward her attacker, but another spear struck her from the right. They shoved her backward, off-balance, slamming her into the ground. Two more Lightning Swords pinned her legs with the prongs of the spears. She struggled, howling, but they held her with grim determination.
Faedellin approached, his gemsword gripped in one hand, glowing hatefully as it dripped with black blood.
