“And stay behind my shield,” Eliran added. “I’ll cover you.”
* * *
The crowd of archons ran around frantically, screaming and hurtling spells in a panicked mess. Aric went to his knees. With so many juicy targets seemingly competing for the dragon’s attention, what better move to make than just laying low?
Unfortunately, not all archons were that easily scared. A couple of them chose to ignore the dragon and focused on the man who had dared to interrupt their sacred ritual. They came at him from both sides, each holding their own sizzling ball of green energy.
Head swiveling from one to the other, Aric mentally revisited his equipment. It was a short list: one sword, one glowstone dagger, and, most importantly at present, a single throwing knife. He stuck a finger through the ring on the blade’s hilt and sent it flying, rolling forward in the same movement. The archon on the left went down, throwing knife jutting out from his forehead, while an energy bolt flew past where Aric had just been kneeling. Jumping to his feet, Aric faced the archon still standing and drew the glowstone dagger, but the acolyte was faster.
At first, it felt like his feet had turned to stone. Then, the cold came, clawing up his legs like dozens of icy needles. Feeling his heart speeding in his chest, Aric looked down and his eyes widened. A sheet of ice covered both his feet, and it seemed to be spreading up his shins.
The archon stepped forward like a spider approaching its trapped prey, aiming a palm at Aric. Green light burst from the man’s hand, shooting forward. It took every ounce of courage he could possibly summon, but Aric fought the urge to curl up into a ball and instead offered his chest to the strike.
The energy ray melted through his tattered shirt, but when it hit the dragon scales and Glowstone cuirass beneath, it dissipated like smoke. The archon’s jaw dropped as if it had come unhinged, and he probably didn’t even see when Aric hurled his glowstone dagger. The weapon wasn’t nearly as nimble and well-balanced as a throwing knife, but it found its target nonetheless, sinking into the acolyte’s throat. The man died trying to scream, coughing out bubbles of blood.
The spell locking Aric in place vanished, and when he moved his legs, they shattered the layer of ice encasing them. He ran to the fallen archon and collected his dagger. Wiping blood from the Glowstone blade, Aric took stock of the battle. The dragon still roared overhead, spewing fire in its rage. The smoldering corpses of dozens of archons laid scattered throughout the valley. Astoreth, however, still stood, a handful of her archons cowering behind her. Across the field, in front of the cave, Eliran had gathered the dragon hunters and sailors of their party behind the shimmering blue sphere of a magical shield, scorched earth surrounding her barrier like an ocean. Over the distance, she locked her eyes on him, voice ringing inside Aric’s skull.
You need to kill Astoreth.
Me? You’re the mage!
If I drop this shield, your little pet is going to roast our people, Eliran replied. Your hunters are pestering me, though. They want to help you. Should I let them out?
Head low, Aric flitted to one of the half-human, half-dragon creature statues and hid behind it. A tang of iron bit his nostrils and Aric looked with disgust at the pool of blood collected in the bowl at the statue’s feet. He then looked over to the cave’s opening. Eliran had a hand up as if she was physically holding the shield from collapsing on top of her and the others—and maybe she was. Aric’s hunters were gathered next to her, blaring angrily.
They’re beginning to test my patience, Eliran added.
Aric grinned. It’s ok. Let them out.
Any orders for them?
They know what to do.
Eliran’s shield flickered and the dragon hunters dashed away. The group spread out, heads low and blades drawn, a pack of felines on the prowl. Using terrain features, boulders, and the dark statues, the hunters disappeared, blending into the valley.
This was what they did.
Well, kind of.
How in the mother’s name do you kill a Head-Archon? Aric wondered.
Above him, the dragon roared, and he looked up. The creature had killed several archons but had paid a heavy price for it. About a dozen wounds speckled its scaly hide, blood gushing out and raining down on the valley with every flap of its wings. The dragon turned, circling for another attack, then dove.
Now is the time, Eliran said. While she’s distracted.
“Merciful mother…” Aric mumbled. Got it.
From where he stood behind the statue, Astoreth had her back to him. She was widening her arms, preparing some spell to meet the incoming dragon and rallying what few acolytes still stood with her. Against the gray backdrop of the sky, the dragon plunged, spitting a jet of fire towards the tightly packed group of archons.
It was his chance. Palm sweating around the hilt of his dagger, Aric left the statue’s cover and ran towards Astoreth, ignoring the fact that he was placing himself in the dragon’s path as well.
“Now!” Astoreth commanded.
Flanking her, the acolytes raised their arms, powerful green auras glowing around them. The dragon fire split in two, deviating from the archons and falling at their sides, scorching what little vegetation flanked them.
Aric was nearly caught in the blaze as it changed direction, rolling to his left and picking himself up quickly to continue his charge. Ahead of him, the archons held their defensive spells, two of them falling to their knees in exertion until, finally, the inferno stopped. The dragon curved upward, climbing back to the skies, and as it did, it exposed its underbelly.
Astoreth seized her chance. She attacked, shooting a barrage of green energy, her power so intense Aric was momentarily blinded. The dragon hunter stopped, covering his eyes
In the last year or so, Aric had killed five dragons with his hunters, but he had never experienced anything like this. The dragon’s shriek hit him like a physical blow, and he forced himself to reopen his eyes. Above him, the beast hung in the air, its flight interrupted. Belly ruined, blood and gore pouring out and splattering over the ground, the dragon’s wings crumpled, and it fell out of the sky like a boulder, headed right towards Aric.
His heart exploded in his chest. Aric ran, trying to outpace that falling, screeching mountain of a creature. He thrust himself forward so hard it felt like his thigh muscles would melt off his legs.
Then, the whole valley exploded behind him. The ground shook and he was propelled forward as if the goddess herself had pushed him. The rocky ground met his face, hands, and rained down on his back, a shower of pebbles and rocks falling over him as he slid across the ground.
As he came to a stop, he coughed, choking on dirt. Slowly, Aric propped himself up on his elbows, wiping dragon blood and mud from his eyes and face. A haze of dust hung lazily in the air, and he checked his surroundings to make sure the world was still there. The colossal corpse laid but a few feet from him, its neck crooked at an impossible angle, its tongue hanging limply from its jaws.
“You…” a voice hissed.
Aric turned and sped to his feet, blade in hand.
“I won’t just kill you,” Astoreth said. “No. I will kill you over, and over, and over.”
“I thought you respected my dedication to my cause,” Aric said, pretending to be hurt.
“I will respect your suffering instead!”
Blue tendrils shot from the tip of Astoreth’s fingers, wrapping around Aric, who stiffened and began to convulse uncontrollably. Pain swept through his entire body as if he was being skewered by dozens of red hot knives. Then, suddenly, the pain subsided, and he sank to his knees.
“Tell the lord Kallax his followers are on their way,” Astoreth croaked. She wrapped her cold fingers around Aric’s jaw, lifting his face so he’d look into her eyes. She raised her other hand above her head, palm glowing like embers. “Say goodbye.”
“Goodbye!” another voice said.
Astoreth’s glowing palm dimmed and her hateful expression went blank. The strength o
f her fingers disappeared, and Aric felt his jaw being released. He looked over the Head-Archon’s shoulder.
Eliran was standing there, her fingers on the back of Astoreth’s head. “Who’s reviving you this time?” the mage asked. She pulled her hand back and Astoreth’s body fell in a lump at her feet.
Still shaking, Aric looked around, searching for Astoreth’s acolytes. He found his hunters instead, wiping bloodied knives on the dark robes of the fallen archons.
“You alright?” Eliran asked, lending him a hand.
Eyes wide, the dragon hunter nodded. “Yeah… sure.” He took her hand and she helped him up.
Eliran smiled. The sweetest, most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. “You did it,” she said. “You stopped Astoreth!”
“I’m pretty sure that was you,” Aric replied.
“I seem to remember being tied to a post not able to do anything as everyone we know was about to be murdered.”
“And I seem to remember—”
“Guys!” Dothea interrupted. “What in the mother’s name is that?”
Everyone followed Dothea’s finger. A pitch-black mist swirled out from within the cave. Slowly, it slid through the air, scaring Naquad’s sailors, who backed away gasping. The dragon hunters stared at the strange phenomenon, mystified.
“There’s no wind,” Aric observed. “How is it moving?”
No one had an answer for him, and when the strands of dark smoke got near the dragon hunters, they all stepped away. Only Eliran stood her ground, studying the mist as if it was some peculiar, newly discovered species. The dark strands skirted the mages tattered, purple robes, then settled over Astoreth’s corpse, swirling around her limbs and torso and partially disappearing into her black robes.
“What’s it doing?” Aric asked, alarmed.
“Is it reviving her?” Leth asked in turn.
“I don’t know…” Eliran took a step towards the fallen Head-Archon and the mist flew away, moving mush faster than it had before.
“I think you scared it,” Clea said.
If Eliran agreed, she didn’t voice it. She simply walked after the mist, although not as fast as it was moving. Almost as if she wasn’t sure the thing was safe.
“Wait.” Eliran stopped. “The artifacts. Astoreth had both the chalice and the dagger.”
Aric dove to the Head-Archon’s body, rummaging through her robes frantically. “Nothing.” He looked at Eliran. “They’re not here.”
At that moment, the mist reached the cave’s entrance and began to circle around itself like a tiny tornado. The strands of smoke seemed to coalesce, taking the shape of a person, and then a woman was standing there, black jewelry adorning her flowing gray robes. She had a fully shaven head, and she stared back at Aric and the others with sickly, yellow eyes. Aric remembered her well.
The kallaxian Reverend Mother.
“You cannot stop death,” she declared. “No one can.”
In a slow, deliberate motion, she revealed the Cup of Kallax held in one hand and the sacred dagger in the other.
Eliran glared, shouting, “Stop her!” before she dematerialized, turning into a speck of blue light and zipping through the air. Just as she rematerialized, the Reverend Mother swung an arm in a sweeping arc and Eliran was sent flying backwards as if hurled by an explosion.
The Reverend Mother raised the dagger and shoved it into her chest, yelping with pain. She fell to one knee, dropping the dagger, but still managed enough strength to collect some her gushing blood into the chalice. The Glowstone shards on the artifact’s surface gleamed and the blood within the cup sizzled, smoking.
“We need to stop her!” Aric cried, dashing away.
His hunters raced after him, drawing their weapons, but the distance between them and the Reverend Mother was too great. The Kallaxian drank from the cup, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. The chalice fell from her fingers and she panted, the life quickly draining from her.
“Sacred be Kallax, beyond the dark,” she muttered. “Your great return our sacrifices mark!” She tumbled forward, but never hit the ground, her body vanishing up in dark smoke that dissolved into the air.
The dragon hunters skidded to a halt just as they reached the cave’s entrance, the Reverend Mother no longer there to meet them. A few feet away from them, Eliran sat up, grimacing.
“What… What happened?” Aric asked.
He never got a reply. The ground began to shake beneath their feet, a deep rumble filling the air as if the whole mountain was roaring. Around the cave’s opening, the rock started cracking. A couple of dragon hunters fell to the ground just as Eliran rose to her feet with difficulty, the others bracing themselves before they could be shaken off their feet.
“What’s happening?” Clea asked.
All eyes were on Eliran, but she did not reply. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she looked over her shoulder at the half-human, half-dragon statues. The sculptures were cracking, pieces of them falling off as the pools of blood at their bases sizzled and bubbled.
“Look out!” Clea pushed Leth away just as a boulder rolled down the face of the hill above the cave and nearly smashed into him.
“Everyone back!” Aric commanded. “Stand away from the cave!”
The hunters obeyed, and just as they did, the rockfall intensified, huge chunks peeling off the face of the hill and smashing to pieces down below. Eliran, however, stayed put, her eyes dazed.
Aric approached her. “Eliran…” he started.
“Merciful mother,” the mage breathed.
“What’s happening?” Aric asked.
Eliran pointed at the hill above the cave. “Kallax,” she said.
Aric spun and looked at where Eliran was pointing. His jaw dropped. What he saw there… it couldn’t be, but it was. Within the rock, on a patch once covered by the now falling debris, there was… skin?
“That can’t be…”
“It is,” Eliran assured him.
“How do we stop it?”
“A spell… a really powerful one.”
“Alright,” Aric said. “Cast it, then.”
“You don’t understand. The Reverend Mother… she gave her life for this. That’s how powerful a spell it would have to be.”
She looked down and Aric followed her gaze to the sacred artifacts lying on the ground. He said nothing.
“It has to be done,” Eliran said after a pause. She knelt and picked up the chalice and the dagger.
“No!” Aric grabbed both her arms, holding them in place.
“You’re going to stop a mage?” Eliran asked. There was no anger or humor in her voice. She just sounded… empty.
“Whatever I have to do,” Aric replied, staring into her eyes. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.” Eliran looked at her arms. Her skin had turned white around where Aric was squeezing her. “Let go.”
“There has to be another way!” Aric insisted. “Think, goddess, damn you!”
Eliran shook her head. “You’re being childish.” She looked at the crumbling hill, where the patches of skin were growing larger and larger. “This has to…” She froze, brows furrowed thoughtfully. “Fire take me… I know what to do, let me go.”
“I told you, I—”
Eliran just walked away, her arms passing through Aric’s fingers like steam. She walked to the side of the cave opening, where a large patch of the god’s skin was now visible. She raised the sacred dagger and stabbed the wall of skin, blood as dark as tar spurting out as she retrieved the blade. Grinning, she collected some of the blood in the chalice and raised it as if in a toast. “Hallowed be Kallax, lord of the Threshold.” She drank three long gulps and threw the artifacts away, then turned to Aric. “Give me your Glowstone dagger,” she said, black puffs of smoke coming out with her breath.
Without a word, Aric complied, and the mage grabbed the weapon by the blade. The blue crystal shone powerfully between her fingers.
Then she shoved i
t deep into the God’s flesh.
Eliran stepped back. Around the dagger she had just enchanted, a layer of stone spread outwards, covering the exposed skin. She looked up. Across the face of the hill, patches of skin disappeared beneath sprouting rock. The ground stopped shaking and the deafening rumble ceased.
The last few pebbles and boulders rolled down the hill, and then the world went quiet.
* * *
Peace and quiet seemed to reign outside, while a war brewed within her.
Runium, that dreaded potion. All mages realized what it was—a poison—and they drank it willingly for the unequalled prize of magic. They learned to control it, compensating for its adverse effects. Some mages were so powerful they could use Runium to extend their lives, despite its poisonous nature.
Eliran had always assumed the reason Runium was poisonous was its original ingredient—dragon blood. Over a year ago, when she had learned the Circle could produce Runium from human blood, she had become curious if this new kind of Runium would be dangerous as well.
Right now, however, she was struggling with Runium of a deeply different nature. Runium made from the blood of a god.
And it was tearing her apart.
Eliran looked at Aric. He was smiling, and he said something, but the sound came muffled and distorted, even though he was standing right there.
“I think something’s wrong,” Eliran said. Her words sounded alien as if they had been said by someone else. Her peripheral vision became a bright blur, and she had trouble focusing on anything not directly in front of her. She must have staggered, because suddenly Aric was holding her as if she was about to fall. He was no longer smiling. In fact, now he looked worried. He said something, but Eliran caught only the word “alright”. Her stomach was burning, and the sensation seemed to be spreading. First to her chest, then to her thighs as well.
It’s the Runium, she concluded, redoubling her efforts to keep it steady within her. She had purposefully released regular Runium once to escape Astoreth’s capture, and it hadn’t been pretty. What would be the consequences of releasing the energy of Runium so powerful it could petrify a god?
The Shadow Of Fallen Gods Page 38
