Unfortunately she missed its crystalline heart, and she paid the price for that miss by receiving a thunderous blow to the side of Randall’s head. Their vision blacked out for a moment, but somehow Randall’s wildly flailing left arm managed to block one of the monsters’ claws.
Dan’Moread staggered to the right, ducking and rolling before sprinting forward as fast as she could manage while battling both vertigo and blindness.
She was certain that her wielder’s life was in peril, so in a last ditch effort to save his life she made ready to do as she had done back in the Underworld tunnels.
Summoning the power from one of her two remaining godstones, she was just about to channel it through his body when a familiar, distorted voice boomed across the courtyard.
“From the graves thou came, and to the graves thou shall return!” echoed the voice of Ser Cavulus throughout the courtyard. As Randall’s vision slowly returned to Dan’Moread, she saw the White Knight herself atop her alabaster steed. The long-legged warhorse charged at a sprint directly toward the Fleshthing whose skull Dan’Moread had split, and in the instant before the warhorse’s armored brisket slammed into that damaged abomination, the White Knight launched herself from the saddle with Rimidalv raised high above her head.
It was, if Dan’Moread could be honest with herself, the very image of a legendary hero. With the White Blade glistening in the midday sun, the woman who had become Ser Cavulus fell upon the Fleshthing which had nearly closed distance with Dan’Moread and Randall.
Rimidalv’s blade buried to his immaculate ricasso as the White Knight drove her blade—who was well and truly her master—into the Fleshthing’s clavicle. In one smooth, perfect motion, the White Knight’s inertia carried her to the ground while both hands remained tightly clenched around Rimidalv’s hilt.
The White Blade tore the Fleshthing’s chest open, splitting it almost perfectly down the middle before the White Knight’s momentum pulled the blade free.
Spying the Fleshthing’s crystalline heart, briefly exposed due to the White Knight’s admirably brutal attack, Dan’Moread lunged toward it and cleaved it neatly in two.
The resulting explosion came sooner than the others, but she had already crouched and Randall raised their miniature shield to protect his head.
Well done, Dan’Moread, she heard the cold, pitiless voice of Rimidalv congratulate. It was a voice she had hoped never to hear again, but now was not the time to refuse his help since Randall’s life—and the lives of his friends—depended on them emerging victorious. Join me in laying these rotlings to rest.
You stay high, she instructed, I will go low.
Have at them! Rimidalv boomed, and together they launched a ferocious attack at the nearest Fleshthing while its two remaining fellows moved sluggishly to support it.
The flash of the White Blade in the sunlight, contrasted by Dan’Moread’s dark, glittering blade, was almost too quick to see from the corner of Randall’s eye as Dan’Moread quickly fell into a rhythm at Rimidalv’s side. Ser Cavulus—or Yaerilys, as she had been before becoming the White Blade’s surrogate—struck with clean, practiced precision. Each blow she rained down with Rimidalv’s White Steel edge tore great gashes in the Fleshthing’s patchwork of rotting body parts, and for some reason it seemed to Dan’Moread that the Fleshthings were not nearly as coordinated in their efforts as they had been prior to Rimidalv’s arrival.
She ducked the occasional counterattack as the Fleshthing backpedaled, its body language betraying something akin to fear as it moved to the relative safety afforded by its companions. But before it managed to reach that safety, Ser Cavulus neatly carved its left arm from its shoulder. Dan’Moread leapt through the gap in the Fleshthing’s guard, skewering its crystalline heart with her star metal tip before rolling clear of the ensuing shower of rot-blackened meat.
Two more, Dan’Moread, Rimidalv said approvingly.
I can count, Rimidalv, she spat fiercely, unable to restrain the anger she felt when hearing his voice. For a fraction of a second, she was overwhelmed by the fact that she had no idea why he elicited such anger—anger which bordered on hatred—but she quickly refocused her attention on the task at hand.
Rimidalv’s wielder pirouetted in her seemingly bulky armor, spinning the White Blade above her head in a flourish before extending her arms and tearing a deep gash into the next Fleshthing’s flank. The White Blade audibly clanged against the crystalline heart of the foul creature, but surprisingly it failed to sunder it—not only that, but the White Knight’s body shuddered with convulsions which sent her to one knee as she clumsily tried to withdraw Rimidalv from the Fleshthing’s body.
Leaping forward, Dan’Moread intercepted the second Fleshthing’s arm at the wrist before it struck the White Knight’s neck. The beast’s hand flew off amid lumpy, coagulated gore, and Dan’Moread adjusted her Titansand ballast as she followed the attack with another aimed at the Fleshthing’s thigh.
Stunningly, the Fleshthing reached out with its remaining hand and actually managed to grab her blade before it could bury into the monster’s leg. For an instant that seemed to last for an eternity, she locked gazes with the Fleshthing’s sunken eyes and seemed to glimpse an intelligence behind them. As that moment stretched ever closer toward oblivion, she was unable to tear her attention from it. A flood of images cascaded through her mind, and for an instant she remembered why she hated Rimidalv—then the instant passed as Randall lashed out with his armored bracer’s serrated edge.
His attack was clumsy and poorly-aimed, but somehow it managed to snap her from the hypnotic trance which had inexplicably come over her. Wrenching herself free of the Fleshthing’s grip, she took three of its gnarled fingers off before spinning and letting her internal ballast flow to her tip as she buried herself into the monster’s torso.
She struck the creature’s heart, but failed to sunder it completely before tearing herself free and falling back away from the creature’s suddenly spasming body.
It thrashed left and right, spinning this way and that as its chest glowed with the same malevolent light which had shone from the sundered fragments of the other Fleshthings’ crystalline hearts.
It fell to a knee, shuddering again before it fell to all fours. She watched with fascination as its body seemed to freeze in that pose from the inside out, starting in its torso which turned ashen and grey as the chill of the monster’s ‘heart’ quickly spread throughout the rest of its body.
Needing no encouragement, Dan’Moread spun herself over in Randall’s hand before smiting the Fleshthing’s back just below the neck. Its body exploded in a shower of icy shards, which she turned her back on as she moved to help the White Knight.
Ser Cavulus seemed unable to extricate Rimidalv from the lone remaining Fleshthing’s torso, and while it was clear that the Fleshthing had been slowed after Rimidalv’s arrival it was also clear that the White Knight was nearly paralyzed after contacting the abomination’s heart with the White Blade.
Release your wielder, Rimidalv, Dan’Moread ‘shouted’ as loudly as she could. I will free you!
The only clear path to the Fleshthing for Dan’Moread was one which would take her through the White Knight’s upper body. Churning Randall’s feet beneath them, she charged toward the entangled Fleshthing and White Knight, but Rimidalv failed to do as she had instructed. The Fleshthing rained blow after blow in rapid, brutal succession on the White Knight’s pauldrons but her gauntleted hands remained firmly gripped around Rimidalv’s hilt.
Dan’Moread knew that he could release his grip on his wielder, and that doing so would allow the White Knight to pull free from the entanglement and create a clear path for Dan’Moread to strike the foul creature.
Rimidalv! she yelled, but still the White Knight’s grip remained firm on Rimidalv’s hilt. Howling in wordless frustration, Dan’Moread pulled herself back from the lone swing path which would have let her strike the undead creature down.
The Fleshthing grasped the W
hite Knight by the pauldron and slammed its misshapen head against Cavulus’ helmet. The beast managed to spin, keeping Cavulus’ body between it and Dan’Moread as it continued to abuse the White Knight.
Release your wielder, Rimidalv! she screamed in frustration, wondering how the White Blade could be so obtuse with his wielder’s life. There was something hauntingly familiar about the emotions she felt as she watched the White Knight get pummeled by the undead monster.
Strike it down, Dan’Moread, Rimidalv growled. Do not hesitate on account of this dross!
Dross?! she repeated in horror, realizing he was referring to his wielder. Words failed her in that moment as the White Blade’s contempt for his wielder shone as brightly as the sun which reflected off his White Steel blade.
She tried to lunge into striking range, but the Fleshthing managed to use Ser Cavulus as a human shield by perfectly positioning her armored body each time Dan’Moread took a step toward the monstrosity.
Dan’Moread saw a flash of light come from Randall’s Flylrylioulen, and a second later he yelled, “Right! Right!”
She heeded her wielder’s advice, and was surprised to find that he had indeed correctly anticipated the opening of a brief gap in the creature’s flank to the right. Leaping forward, she swung her blade upward and felt savage satisfaction as she cleaved the Fleshthing’s arm below the elbow.
Its grip on Ser Cavulus broken, the White Knight was able to stagger backward and withdraw Rimidalv from the monster’s chest. Dan’Moread followed the dismembering strike with a series of rapid chops and swipes, each of which carved gashes which would have crippled a living creature. The Fleshthing recoiled from the rain of blows, but its speed was so greatly diminished that Dan’Moread was able to pick it apart with no fewer than twenty rapid strikes, each of which took another fraction of its mobility.
With the beast hobbled, she adjusted her ballast and stepped deep inside the creature’s guard as it launched what would be its final counterattack. She drove her tip up beneath its ribcage, twisting and wrenching her tip through its thoracic cavity where she sliced through the thing’s jagged, crystalline heart.
She failed to pull herself free before the last of the Fleshthings exploded, and when the abomination’s ice-cold heart burst her world plunged into darkness.
Chapter XXIII: Principle vs. Patronage
16-2-6-659, Afternoon
“Dani,” Randall wheezed after picking himself up off the ground following the explosion of the last Fleshthing. He looked down at his aching chest and saw a handful of tiny, glowing crystal fragments sticking out of the armor covering his chest.
Her control over his body had ended with the death of the last Fleshthing, and just as before it seemed as though she had been functionally rendered unconscious. Still, he was concerned about her well-being and looked up and down her blade to see if he could find any signs of damage.
He found none, and quickly slumped to one knee as the now-familiar pain in his chest—which had never fully healed following his previous injuries—began to throb angrily.
“Thou fight well, Randall,” Ser Cavulus’ distorted, metallic voice called out from behind him.
He turned to see the White Knight’s armor had suffered significant damage during the fight with the Fleshthings. Several rents were gouged in her pauldrons and her helmet was now asymmetrical, having been flattened on one side from the Fleshthing’s repeated headbutts.
“It wasn’t me,” he wheezed.
“Thou are too modest, forsooth,” Yaerilys grunted. “Rimidalv asks after thy blade’s condition.”
“Tell him it’s none of his business,” Randall spat, confident that Dan’Moread shared his resentment of the White Blade and would have supported him in defying Rimidalv ‘the Incorruptible.’
Yaerilys cocked her helmeted head in apparent confusion before turning her attention elsewhere and sighing grimly, “Snowfall…my valiant steed.”
Randall followed her gaze and saw that the mighty, pristine warhorse which ‘Ser Cavulus’ had ridden into the battle was no longer the color of new-fallen snow. Fully a third of its body was now pinkish red, having been covered with its own steadily-seeping lifeblood after suffering a clearly fatal wound to its neck.
He felt his heart clench at seeing the mighty animal drawing ragged, fearful breaths as Ser Cavulus approached. The White Knight knelt beside the fallen warhorse and gently cradled its head in her arms, “My valiant, noble steed…how can I forgive myself for thy fate?”
In that moment, even though she was encased in impenetrable armor that removed her from the world in ways he could never truly understand, Randall saw the woman he had briefly known shine through as clear as the sun above him. She stroked the fallen warhorse’s neck, careful not to touch near its ragged wound which continued to pour lifeblood out on the ground.
Yaerilys cared deeply for the warhorse who had given its life in service of her, who was its master. Randall was unable to dismiss—or refute—the conclusion that Yaerilys’ master, Rimidalv, extended no such sympathy toward the woman the world presently knew as Ser Cavulus.
She continued to stroke its cheek while deftly drawing Rimidalv across its neck, careful not to touch the blade to the mount’s hide before expertly slashing the razor-sharp White Blade across the horse’s open neck wound. The animal’s lifeblood pumped vigorously for a few seconds, and the dying creature thrashed weakly but Yaerilys held its head firmly in her hands until its movements ceased entirely a few seconds later. She waited awhile before placing the horse’s head gently on the flagstones and standing to wipe Rimidalv on the horse’s still-white haunches.
“I’m…sorry for your loss,” Randall said tightly, knowing that while Yaerilys deserved his sympathy he could not, in good conscience, extend that same sympathy to her tyrannical White Blade.
“T’was a fine charger,” she said, her voice neither masculine nor feminine as it came from her helmet, “and a loyal companion. The former can be easily replaced, but the latter…” she trailed off somberly.
“Good friends are hard to come by,” Randall commiserated, looking down at Dan’Moread before wincing as another flare of pain erupted across his chest.
“Forsooth,” she agreed.
Randall looked out over the bridge, from where the White Knight had arrived, “Where is your squire, Ravilich?”
“We broke company two nights past,” she replied. “Rimidalv suspected thou wert in jeopardy, so we hastened our arrival by riding ahead of our entourage.”
“Entourage?” Randall repeated skeptically as he cast a baleful look toward Rimidalv. “I thought it was just you and Ravilich.”
“Thou are correct,” she allowed, slowly rolling her shoulders beneath her badly-damaged pauldrons. “T’would seem to be a force of habit; I am unaccustomed to traveling in such thin company.”
Randall looked around the courtyard one last time before making his way toward the main house, “I should tell my friends it’s safe now.”
“Indeed,” the White Knight nodded, “Rimidalv is convinced there are no more of the golems nearby.”
“Golems?” Randall quirked a brow.
“Tis but a single word used to describe them,” Yaerilys shrugged. “Some call them ‘Stitchlings’ on account of their patchwork assembly; others call them ‘Rotlings’ for their stench and putridity; still others refer to them as ‘Fleshthings.’ In truth, I have not seen their precise ilk before.”
“These are different from most…Stitchlings?” he asked warily as they made their way to the main house.
The White Knight nodded, “They were far larger, and possessed hearts made of godstone shards.”
“Godstone?” he repeated in surprise.
Again Yaerilys nodded, though this time she hesitated before saying, “Rimidalv commands that we adjourn this line in inquiry for the time being.”
Gritting his teeth angrily, Randall refrained from commenting on what—or who!—Rimidalv should or shouldn’t be allowed t
o ‘command.’ After a few more steps they reached the back of the main house and he peered into the cellar, “Is everyone all right?”
“Are they…dead?” Lorie asked tightly from deep within the shadows.
“They are,” Randall nodded, wincing again as his ribs flared in pain, “you can come out now.”
The group slowly emerged, giving Randall tense looks. To his surprise, he saw only the barest hints of fear in their collective visages—except for the children, who had somehow remained quiet during the battle but who now began to cry.
“Are thy children injured?” the White Knight asked as Lorie brought her family up and out of the cellar.
“No,” Lorie said, her eyes bouncing back and forth between ‘Ser Cavulus’ and Randall, “Randall…who is this?”
Randall opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘this is Ser Cavulus, the White Knight,’ but he hesitated since that would have been a lie. He knew the truth of Yaerilys’ identity, and each passing second brought him closer to the realization that he could not allow Rimidalv’s lies to be spread any longer.
Before Randall could reply, the White Knight clasped her hand over her armored chest, “I am Ser Cavulus, fair woman. Some call me the White Knight, and I am the proud Bearer of Rimidalv the Incorruptible.”
Lorie’s eyes went wide, “You’re Ser Cavulus?!”
“Indeed,” Yaerilys agreed.
“How did you know to find us?” Yordan asked in her usually skeptical manner.
“Rimidalv informed me of thy plight yesterday,” the ‘White Knight’ gestured to the blade strapped across her back. “I rode here with all haste to lend thee my aid.”
“Who is Rimidalv?” Ellie asked in confusion.
Randall shook his head before giving the ‘White Knight’ a brief but pointed look, “That’s a very…complicated question.”
Yaerilys seemed to understand his reluctance to suggest Rimidalv and Dan’Moread were sentient beings, so she nodded, “Forsooth. Suffice to say, good woman, that he is the staunchest companion I could ever ask for and it was due to him that we prevailed over these foul abominations.”
Dross (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 2) Page 27
