“Do you want to be buried when you die?” Nyx asks as she walks to the middle of the magma pool. “After everything you’ve done for Helgard, I want to repay you somehow. Unless you want to skip the fight and remain here.”
“I have no concerns about my mortal remains,” Sutter replies, his mane bristling with excitement. He can smell the power wafting off the half-elf, a sensation that she lacked during their first encounter. “There’s nobody in the way of your magic, so fight me with all of your strength.”
“As you wish.”
Sutter charges with his head down and a pair of fiery horns grow from his skull. He is thrown back by a storm of fire and lightning that erupts around Nyx. The deadly spells batter him until he is near the edge of the volcano, his wide feet gripping the stone. With a powerful roar, he deflects the next barrage of swirling fireballs into the desert where they explode upon the distant dunes. Dropping to all fours, Sutter bounds back onto the magma and races toward the caster. He bucks his head at a barrier of stone that erupts before him and the thick chunks fly at Nyx. They turn into powder when she hurls waves of heat bolts at them, filling the air with a cloud of choking dust. His claws extending and turning into jagged saws, Sutter leaps at the caster and easily tears through her shields. Nyx bursts forward to meet him and slams a lightning-coated fist into his face, sending him tumbling away. As he gets to his feet, raw magic slithers along the rolling waves of molten rock and reaches for the Ifrit’s feet. He dives under the surface to avoid the ghostly hands that attempt to snare him.
Unable to sense the monster, Nyx plunges her hands into the magma and transforms it into a spinning column. Safe in the hollow center of the maelstrom, the caster fills the space with illusionary doubles that throw phantom fireballs in an attempt to flush Sutter into the open. The Ifrit bursts from the behind her, his teeth bared and his eyes white as he pinpoints the real Nyx among her decoys. All of the illusions explode in bursts of golden fire that launches both combatants out of the column of magma. A thin line of aura around her wrist connects Nyx to the molten rock and she yanks on it as wings of flame erupt from Sutter’s back. His eyes go wide as the entire column jumps into her hands and becomes two large clubs that she uses to smash her enemy. Upon impact, the gigantic weapons explode in a halo of fire that runs beyond every horizon. The Ifrit plummets back to the empty volcano where he leaves a dent on the rim and cracks the stone. Dropping the magma back into the mouth, Nyx lands on Sutter before he can recover and stand. She punches her hand through his chest, her fingers turning into sharpened flames that coil around his heart.
They stare at each other for a few seconds, Nyx giving the lesser demon a final, silent chance to surrender and live. Instead, he lets his body go limp and stares at the cloudless sky for the last time. He takes a deep breath, half expecting the motion to cause the fiery coils to finish him off. Scared that the half-elf is unwilling to strike the killing blow, the Ifrit bares his teeth and extends his claws. To his relief, the edged flames tighten and slice into his heart.
“Welcome home, Lady Nyx,” Sutter whispers before the caster clenches her fist and gives him peace.
21
The thick sand mutes the explosion, so it is only a muffled noise that makes Cudgel giggle in excitement. She ducks into the draining sand to catch Nyx before the half-elf is pulled through the newly made exit. The dragon places the gasping champion next to Casandra, the ancient channeler indifferent to the events around her. Adjusting her new glasses, Cudgel sinks into the remaining sand and squeezes through the hole to enjoy the freedom of the desert. Fizzle darts after the happy Aquestar Dragon, refusing to let her be alone as she starts her life outside of Helgard.
“I would like to repeat that having a pet dragon would have been a smart idea. I know you promised her freedom, but you could have kept her for a bit longer to help out,” Casandra states, reaching up to pat the phoenix on the head. Her body blinks out of existence for a second and returns as if nothing happened. “At the very least she could have helped with the undead problem in your crypt. The amount of repairs and maintenance in Helgard will require months of hard labor.”
“It won’t take more than three months if my tribe helps,” Sharne says. Holding the scepter to her chest, she kneels before Nyx and bows her head. “I humbly offer that my people return to our ancestors’ roles as caretakers. We will remain in our camp while cleaning Helgard and rebuild our homes if you wish to keep us.”
“I assumed you would do me the honor of being the caretakers,” Nyx replies, helping the holy woman to her feet and hugging her. “This wouldn’t have been possible without you and your people. This is as much your home as it is mine, so rebuild your homes first.”
“The phoenix remembers what Palqua looked like, so I can rebuild it. After I clean up the magma lake, which Nyx was so kind to revive in her fight with Sutter,” Casandra says, fighting to hide a smirk. She flexes her arms and enjoys the feeling of being out of the scepter. “Do we even know where to start? You have the undead, the corpse collection, no furniture, gaudy decorations, and so many other issues. Do you even know where your throne room is? The phoenix knows one is somewhere in Helgard, but everything has been moved around by Nuerin and Sutter.”
Nyx groans and leans against the rough wall, nearly stepping on Delvin as he sleeps on the floor. The warrior mumbles and rolls, gently taking the half-elf’s legs out from beneath her. She lands on his legs and yelps in startled pain, but he continues snoring. With her fist covered in lightning, she considers jolting him awake. Instead, she hits him with a paralysis spell to prevent him from rolling into the sand pit.
“I already looked into the throne room. It was Nuerin’s lab, so I need to make a new one. That room met with an unfortunate lava flow about an hour ago,” Nyx explains while she stands and rubs her necklace. Holding the amethyst in front of her face, she grins at her new idea. “I can call in a mercenary army to help with escorting supplies from Bor’daruk and maybe do a little heavy labor around here. Luke and Sari have already gone to discuss furniture and decorations with Kira Grasdon, so they can wait there. They had personal business any way, but I’m sure everything will go smoothly. Luke has his ring back, so he can work with Timoran and Delvin to clear out the crypt. I’m thinking of having that room purified by whatever priests I can recruit since it’s been defiled. The corpses that aren’t trying to kill us will be put in the volcano with prayers to Gabriel. Is there anything else I’m missing?”
Casandra opens a window to the crypt and watches the creatures swarm around the shattered caskets. Ghosts pass through the walls and ceiling while the solid undead seem to be wandering in a daze. A water ghast walks near the portal, unaware that it is being spied on by the ancient channeler. It hacks and coughs in the hot room, eventually collapsing from severe heat exhaustion. The window closes and Casandra faces Nyx, surprising the half-elf by falling to one knee.
“I humbly request that the crypt be transformed into living quarters and practice circles for any channelers who come for training,” the woman says as the phoenix imitates her with a bow of its own. “It has the space and barriers necessary to contain our level of magic. That does bring up the question of our sleeping quarters. I sleep within the body of the phoenix, but his nest needs a room.”
“The crypt is yours when we clear it out. I think I know where I can put the nest. The large chamber I fought the blood soldiers in has a lot of space and access to the rest of Helgard. I’ll put all of that on the endless list. I’m going to spend the rest of my life fixing this place.”
“Don’t worry. We will get to everything eventually,” Sharne replies. She opens her mouth to say something else, but hesitates until Nyx gestures for her to speak. “Do you feel any different than before? I ask because champions are supposed to gain unique abilities upon bonding with their temple. You already possessed great magic, so I’m curious to know if anything has changed.”
“I’m more aware of my power and I do feel like I have mor
e aura to work with,” the half-elf admits. She holds out her hand to create a snowball, which immediately transforms into a fireball. “It’s easier to work outside of my favored element, but I can’t hold the fire back. It’s almost like I’m on the edge of losing control of my magic. There’s an odd bliss to it too, which is why I’m not panicking.”
“It’s because I’m free and my power is connecting with all of my children,” Casandra claims as she hugs Nyx. The embrace sends a jolt of energy through the black-haired caster whose eyes flutter in ecstasy. “I’m very proud of the strength that you showed against Sutter and the cunning used in our duel. When you wish, I’ll teach you about your true magic and the history of our people. May I see the crossbow first? I’m rather curious since I’ve never been affected by one before.”
Smiling with pride, Nyx hands the magic crossbow over to Casandra and watches her examine the weapon. The phoenix moves to the woman’s wrist and pecks at the trigger, sending a bolt of magic into the far wall. The ancient channeler vanishes from sight, leaving the winged guardian to hover with the crossbow clutched in its small talons. Casandra reappears a few minutes later and snatches the weapon from the phoenix, glaring at the cooing bird. Nyx and Sharne get the sense that the two are arguing through telepathy as their expressions shift from anger to exasperation and then an oddly childish pout. Once she is done with the silent discussion, Casandra holds the crossbow over the sand pit and melts the weapon in a globe of roiling fire.
“The hell are you doing!?” Nyx screams as the liquefied weapon sinks into the distant sand. “I needed that for emergencies. It was a gift from Queen Ionia of Darkmill. Why would you do that?”
“Because magical creations formed from non-channeler aura are not to be used by our people,” Casandra calmly explains, letting a shield spell block Nyx’s punch. “I have no problem with you remaining savage and crass, but I refuse to let my greatest descendent carry something so vile. That isn’t an insult to your friend, but you deny your own power every time you use a foreign magic item. Use these things enough and your power may disappear entirely. I believe that happened to your father even though his potential was minimal. Now that I’m free I can read all of my children, including those that have fallen too far. To be fair, I can sense that your father is a rather . . . colorful and strong-willed member of my lineage. I can see where you get some of your less desirable, yet strangely effective, traits.”
“I’ve no idea if I should hit you or thank you,” Nyx mutters in frustration. With a whip of lightning, she knocks Casandra’s hand away from her bracelet. “That was made by my mother who I thought was dead for my entire life. She gave it to me when we were reunited, so I will destroy you if you try to melt it.”
“Very well, but I refuse to let you wear it during our training,” Casandra demands, her body becoming transparent. “I will send Sharne back to her people and begin rebuilding Palqua. Come to the summit if you need me, your highness.”
Sharne is the first to vanish in a burst of light, the startled expression on her face lingering in the air like a fading phantom. With a smirk, Casandra disappears and the phoenix flies toward the wall. A portal of fire appears on the stone and the guardian turns into ashes, the remains sucked through the roiling opening. The quiet is unnerving to Nyx after all of the battles and she can sense her own fatigue. With a small yawn, she takes a seat next to Delvin and moves his head into her lap. She falls asleep within minutes and her head tilts forward, allowing her gentle breath to tickle the warrior’s ear.
*****
Dariana stands in front of the glass wall, her eyes closed and her attention focused on the warmth of the bonfire on her sweaty body. Her simple clothes are sticking to her skin after an hour of breaking the stone masks on the walls and removing the embedded skulls. It is hard work and she has already broken all of the hammers and chisels, resulting in her having to use her fists. She kisses the ring on her left hand, the trinket so clear that a person would miss it with a casual glance. Having the enchanted item back gives her a sense of peace now that the emotions of those around her are no longer battering her mind. Yet there is something about her serene calm that differs from anything she has felt in her entire life. The silver-haired woman smiles when she realizes it is because after so many centuries of being alone, she finally has true friends.
“I do not mean to interrupt your thoughts, but I would appreciate some help,” Timoran requests. He throws a skull onto one of the piles the surrounds the bonfire, a look of utter disgust on his face. “Are you feeling sick from this? I admit that I am very uneasy and nauseated by this task. If I was a weaker man, I would regret volunteering.”
“I’ve seen much worse in my time,” Dariana states as she walks to the wall and kicks a mask. The stone breaks and she catches the skull, gingerly caressing the cracked bone before placing it in the pile. “Join your friends and be at peace.”
“How many of them did you know?”
“Not all of them, but enough that I feel responsible for giving their spirits freedom.”
“I can see how that weighs on your mind.”
Dariana approaches two masks and breaks them open with quick elbow strikes. She pulls the skulls out and turns them in her hands, her curiosity giving her pause. One of them is large and bumpy, its extended lower jaw revealing its Orcish nature. The other is small and thin with sharp teeth like those of a small cat, she guesses from a long dead calico. Without looking, she tosses them over her shoulders and directly into the bonfire. The bones turn black and crackle in the enchanted flames while Timoran stares at his companion in restrained horror.
“I’m sorry, but those two tried to . . . do things to me,” Dariana explains as she bows to the barbarian. Seeing concern in the man’s blue eyes, she blushes and puts up her hands. “Not sexual things like you’re thinking, but torture to get information about my father. There are a few in here who were incredibly cruel to me, so their fate doesn’t weigh on my mind. For those that slightly wronged me, I’m being the better person to them. I shall treat their remains in a way that I would hope someone would treat mine.”
“That is very kind and thoughtful,” Timoran replies while he shrugs his great axe off his shoulder. He swings at the wall and frees another skull, which he hands to the woman. “You are nothing like your brother and, I assume, your father. I cannot say for sure since I do not know any stories about him.”
“My father was a cruel, ambitious warlord that sought to conquer the gods and came so close that they still fear him. Yet I know he can be compassionate and kind if it suits his goals,” Dariana says, staring into the fire. A tightness in her chest warns her that she is getting upset, so she erases the brewing emotions from her mind. “I have that in me. I can feel his level of cruelty, which I know he restrains unless he has to use it. If Stephen is a raging inferno then my father is a precise fireball. I’m more of a flickering candle in comparison, but I believe you realize that I don’t really fit in with my family.”
“I think you fit in with us fine.” He reaches out to pat his friend on the head, which makes her tense. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry, but I will not have sex with anyone. My father’s bloodline ends with me,” she answers, removing the barbarian’s hand from her head. “Before she left, Sari told me that since she is with Luke and Nyx is with Delvin, I will end up with you. She was telling me that it’s destiny and there’s no denying it, but I feel that I can’t go through with such a thing. I’m sorry if this hurts your feelings and makes you hate me.”
Timoran drops his great axe as he doubles over in laughter, his voice echoing through the room. Tears stream down his dirty face and his stomach aches from the violent spasms. It takes several minutes for him to stop, but he almost breaks down again when he meets Dariana’s ivory eyes. Turning away from her, the barbarian takes a deep breath and regains enough control to recover his weapon.
“I believe Sari decided to pull a prank on you,” Timoran claims, wiping
the remaining tears from his cheeks. “I appreciate you being honest and assure you that I have no intention of bedding you. In fact, it would be a dishonor to even consider it. Sari and the others do not know about my past, so they are unaware of this. I will entrust this information to you if you swear on your mother to keep it between us.”
“I’ve never learned a secret that I didn’t read in someone’s mind. I swear on the breast of Zaria, which only I am allowed to place an oath on.”
Timoran leans forward to whisper in her ear, his voice shaky with emotions he has kept in check for years. “I am married. My wife is back with my tribe and I remain loyal to her. I shall do so until we are either together again or we are reunited in the afterlife. So know that my intentions for you will always be friendship.”
“Why were you exiled?”
“That is a secret I can never share.”
“I’m sorry that I asked.”
“No need to apologize, my friend.”
“Friend . . . I have friends,” Dariana mutters in childish disbelief. “I don’t think I ever had friends before. What do I do?”
The barbarian grins and squeezes her shoulder. “Be yourself.”
The silver-haired woman nods her head and goes back to freeing the skulls, leaping high to get the ones near the ceiling. Her giddiness at having friends makes her light as a feather and she leaps around the room with ease. Timoran hurries to catch whatever she drops, apologizing whenever he has to hurl a skull into the pile instead of gently placing it among its deceased peers. Dariana stops her momentum by catching the chandelier and flipping to the floor next to the barbarian.
“Should I pull a prank on Sari when she gets back from Bor’daruk?” she asks while catching her breath. “I’ve been told that playful revenge is common among friends.”
Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) Page 41
