“Look at the ugly mutt, Kirkwald!” taunted one of the courtiers, holding his rapier pointed at Waresh. “Dwarven nobility are just as crude and ugly as the peasants. I hear Hammerhelm buggered his sister and mother before chopping off their heads and bathing in their blood.”
The one known as Kirkwald, who had first challenged Waresh, capered toward him, making as if to stab him with the rapier, but then hopped back with a flourish of his weapon. The two of them laughed heartily.
Waresh’s vision turned red at the insult and the sight of the prancing dandies, and Heartsbane was in his hand. A sweep of the mighty axe shattered the slim rapier, sending splinters of metal flying into the air. His next swing took Kirkwald’s head, launching it several feet, where it landed atop one of Arnold’s decorative silver platters.
The second dandy fell just as quickly, landing in the muck and trying to hold his entrails in with his hands.
“Guards! Where are the damned guards?” screeched Brollie, falling back in terror and slipping in the mud.
His horse reared and came down atop his leg, shattering it, before bolting in panic with the other mounts. Brollie’s remaining courtier turned tail and fled, sparing not a backward glance for his lord.
Waresh loomed over Brollie, teeth clenched as he watched the coward cry and beg for mercy. He could hear boots smacking the sloppy ground as guards raced toward them from down the lane. He knew he would be forced to kill or injure them and flee. His life as a caravan guard was finished.
“Damn ye, ye little prancing prick.” He sighed at what was inevitable.
“Throw down your weapon!” commanded a deep voice. “Do it now!”
With a growl of frustrated anger, Waresh finished Brollie, splitting his head apart like a rotten tree stump.
The town guards attacked with swords and spears. A spear tip glanced off his pauldron while he batted a clumsy sword strike aside with ease. One of the guards slipped in the mud, unbalanced for a second. Heartsbane hacked through his rib cage, and the wounded guard crashed into a vegetable cart, overturning it. People screamed and fled the scene.
The guard with the spear drove it into Waresh’s bicep, piercing the mail while the other guard’s sword stabbed at his torso. Waresh stepped back, but the tip grazed his side. He chopped the first guard’s spear just below the tip. The wood snapped like a pine needle, and the tip flew away, embedding in the wall of a wooden stall. He hacked the man’s leg off at the knee, sending him toppling into the muck with a cry. His eyes went wide as blood pumped from the stump. The second guard gaped in surprise for a moment before Heartsbane cleaved through his sternum.
Waresh stood over the corpses of his foes, breathing heavily. Entrenched in Heartsbane’s grip as he was, he barely felt his bleeding wounds. After what could have been seconds or minutes, he noticed Arnold backed against the rear of his stall and staring at Waresh, frozen in shock and horror.
Realization struck him like a bucket of cold water over the head. He had killed again—this time minor nobles, it appeared, along with three members of the town guard. The humans would want to put a noose around his neck now. They likely wouldn’t even bother sending him back to his sister to claim the bounty since it called for him being returned alive.
Waresh stepped over Brollie’s corpse and started down the street, thoughts still numb from Heartsbane’s influence. After a dozen steps, his head cleared, and he raced through the market as his thoughts turned to escape. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he should throw down his axe and surrender before more innocents fell before him, but that voice was a mere whisper. For the time, self-preservation took over.
He wouldn’t find out until later that Lord Brollie was the heir to a prominent family of Nexus. The next week turned into a blur of fear and discomfort as he was pursued deep into the wilderness by Nexus retrieval officers. The first two he slew with relative ease. For the third attempt, the Special Judiciary took more caution, sending a team of four to bring him to ground, led by the scarred brute Haskell. They bested him, nearly killing him in the process, although Haskell hadn’t come out of it unscathed.
Upon being bound and taken back to the Special Judiciary, Waresh had been healed enough to avoid death before being tossed into the Nexus dungeons. The next six months, he waited for a date with the headsman but was shocked to find himself collared and sentenced to service as a retrieval officer himself. Apparently, Haskell had put in a good word for him, much to his constant dismay.
***
And me existence got even worse if that is even possible. If only that barbarian bastard had dragged me back as a corpse, none of this would’ve happened. Waresh heaved a sigh and took a long drought from his wineskin. I had me chance to help Nera and her crew and get this mage to remove me collar, and I bloody buggered that up too.
Waresh angrily kicked out his fire and climbed back to his feet, planning to find the other crossroads and then disappear to some distant plane where his past could trouble him no more.
Chapter 21
“Awaken, child. Your time has not yet come.” The voice beckoned from somewhere distant in the blackness beyond the grave.
Nera was cold, so cold she could barely muster the effort to rouse herself from sleep. The chill leached into her bones, freezing her muscles and joints until she was so stiff she couldn’t move. After a silent struggle, she finally mustered the strength to open her eyes.
A thick gray mist met her eyes. She blinked in confusion, but her vision didn’t clear. Simple nothingness but the fog existed all around. With a groan, Nera sat up and regained her bearings somewhat. She had been lying atop a hard cobblestone street, hence the chill and stiffness in her limbs. The faint shapes of what appeared to be ruins within the fog teased her eyes. She shivered and clutched her cloak tightly about herself while working to massage life back into her legs and then her back after getting to her feet.
As her mind cleared, memories came rushing back. Looking down, she was shocked to find the mortal wound in her chest gone. A large pink scar was visible through the gash in her leathers between her breasts.
Balor’s balls… What happened? Surely, I’m dead. Which must mean this is the Abyss. She had expected dying to be a more terrifying experience, yet passing beyond had seemed somewhat comforting.
She took a few steps forward. The fog shifted and swirled, the faint shapes of ruined stone buildings the color of old bones solidifying around her in all directions. The cobblestone street extended out of sight into the dense fog smothering what she realized must have once been a city of some splendor. The mist provided a wet chill that threatened to snuff her inner fire. She shivered and clutched her cloak tightly around her. I need warmth, to build a fire… This damned cold saps the warmth from me.
A great feeling of emptiness emanated from the ruined city. Her eyes seemed to play tricks on her, as everything beyond a short dagger’s toss was obscured in the fog, which would occasionally stir as if moved by a breeze, yet she felt none.
After a few moments of nervously staring into the fog, she felt a presence hovering nearby. The voice from earlier.
“I’m saddened, child, that you had to suffer death to reach this point. It is unfortunate your protector couldn’t be there to prevent your fall. But fate plays out as it will, and perhaps this path will prove to be the best one.”
Nera looked around, but nobody was there. The words of the unseen speaker reverberated with power, but the tone was warm and somehow put her at ease.
“Where am I? And who are you? Show yourself.” Her breath puffed visibly in the cold, forlorn place.
“These are the ruins of a once-proud nation known as Valirial, simply known as the Gray Lands in these times.” The voice was filled with sadness and seemed to be coming from right over Nera’s shoulder.
She whirled to find a lovely, elegant woman standing before her, where nobody had been seconds before. The woman was a head taller than Nera, long limbed and graceful, but she carried a powerful presence, one that
felt like a pressure in Nera’s ears, similar to what she had once experienced off plane when hiking up a steep mountain trail. The woman’s skin was pale, and she had a mane of lustrous ebony hair. Her dark dress appeared to shift queerly, as if formed of shifting shadows. But her eyes were what took Nera’s breath away. They were a black void but seemed to somehow be filled with clusters of stars. Locking eyes with the woman was like falling slowly into the night sky.
“I-I know you. You are the Mistress of the Night,” Nera whispered in awe. She instinctively fell to her knees on the cold street, unable to break the woman’s gaze.
“I have many names, but yes, that is one I am known by at times.” The woman smiled gently and took Nera’s hand, helping her back to her feet. At her touch, warmth flowed throughout Nera’s chilled body, rejuvenating her.
She stared at the goddess in awe, trying to keep her mouth from sagging open stupidly. Sabyl! She is standing here, holding my hand.
“Did I die?” she asked, unsure of what to say to a goddess. “I remember that sword piercing my breast and then darkness.”
Sabyl tilted her head. “Yes, in a manner of speaking. But your work is incomplete, and thus you are returned to the living.”
She began walking, and Nera felt compelled to accompany her. The fog retreated around them as they proceeded.
“What is it you wish of me, Mistress?” Nera asked shyly.
Sabyl was quiet for a moment before replying. “I must tell you of what has come to pass, that you can proceed enlightened. My brothers, Sol and Shaol, are ignorant fools who risk the destruction of Nexus and all the multiverse. They have fought since the dawn of time, striving to gain power over each other by virtue of accumulating a greater number of mortal souls. They gain worshippers in life and their souls in death, which strengthens their power. Their hubris blinds them to the reality of the destruction they have wrought. You have seen the results of this foolish game, beginning with the great Machine’s destruction. Tens of thousands of your fellow citizens will die without food, water, and fresh air afore long. Elsewhere, portals will open upon gentle worlds, allowing the fiends of the Abyss to spew forth and bring slaughter. The other gods have either chosen sides and aligned with them, mostly uncaring for their absurd game, but not wanting to be on the losing side. Others have remained on the fringes of this game, unknowing how to react or seeking to avoid attention.
“Fortunately, I have a soft spot in my heart for the crossroad of the planes. I was there at the beginning, watching with great interest when my brothers Xoares and Marakesh instructed their Chosen, known now as the Architect and Engineer, in the construction of Nexus. I witnessed the catastrophe of the Planar War and the tremendous damage that resulted. My brothers were pleased, for they collected their souls even as the planes burned to ash around them. And now, many millennia later, I see it happening once again. This monumental foolishness and the damage it has wrought thus far will be nothing compared to what is yet to come. I have chosen you, Neratiri, as my instrument to restore the balance and save your home of Nexus.”
The goddess’s words nearly overwhelmed her, and Nera had to struggle to form words. “What is it that I can do?” she asked in a small voice. “I am merely a simple thief—a plane-cursed orphan at that.”
Sabyl laughed, and a shiver ran down Nera’s spine at the rich melody. “Oh, you are so much more than that, dear child. I’ve seen to it that you are right where you need to be in order to fulfill your role. You have the qualities required to succeed, learned from living as a plane-cursed orphan—among the lowest in society. You’ve learned resourcefulness and compassion. Loyalty to your friends. Street smarts and perseverance. Quickness of reflex and skill at arms. And now you have known love and learned to place the well-being of others above yourself.” Sabyl ran her finger along Nera’s horn, tracing the runes there, which flared a bright blue in response, causing her to gasp in surprise. “Your courage is what makes me most proud, however, unafraid to stand up for what you believe and to tread this onerous path.”
The goddess’s words rang true. She thought of her companions and the quest she had led them on.
A vision of Malek coalesced in her mind. His robes were torn, and he had lost weight. He was weary, in pain, and afraid. Alone. Pursued by creatures that hid just out of sight in the fog.
He’s truly here—in the Gray Lands!
“Yes, he is out there,” Sabyl replied to her unvoiced thought with a graceful gesture of her hand. “You seek to help the one you love?”
Nera felt the flush creep into her cheeks. “Nay, it’s not that. The boy owes me clink for all that I’ve done for him, including being stabbed to death, or nearly so, twice now!”
Sabyl laughed again, the rich notes of her mirth ringing out and making the forlorn Gray Lands seem much less ominous for that brief moment in time. “Deny your heart if you will, but in the end, you will discover the truth.” She smiled at Nera. “My time is short here. You must save the one you love and bring order to the chaos. I see in your thoughts that the Engineer has contacted you. Clever—I have underestimated him once again. If Nexus is to be saved, then you must free the Engineer from his imprisonment. Only he can restore the Machine that breathes life into Nexus. But take care, for his aims may not align with your own. He still bears a great rancor against his brother.”
Nera frowned when she glanced down and found that the Bracer of Fellraven was gone, as was Bedlam Judge. Her pack with all her provisions was missing as well. Fortunately, she had her waterskin and some small amount of rations stashed in one of her pouches. And I still have Lightslicer, at least. “How can I venture to the Abyss and free him when I am trapped here, without the bracer or even sufficient provisions?”
“Your resourcefulness will allow you to find a way. Find Malek. Together, you two are strong—you will succeed.” She smiled at Nera and squeezed her hand encouragingly. “I will not deceive you—the path before you will be long and arduous. Know that the Abyss does not relinquish its prisoners without an awful price. But you have all the skills and abilities to succeed and are strongest when surrounded by your stalwart companions.” The goddess caressed Nera’s cheek, and she was again mesmerized, gazing into the nebula of her eyes. “You’ve turned out well, Neratiri. I am proud of you. Wear that foolish ‘plane-cursed’ slur as a badge of honor, for your blood is above most others’.”
Sabyl looked away, and Nera’s head swam as she reacquired her bearings after being lost in the vast star field of the goddess’s gaze.
Sabyl released her grip on Nera’s hand and began to fade away, like an apparition in the fog. “Take heart, for I believe in you—I have faith you will succeed, my Chosen.”
And with that, Sabyl, Mistress of the Night, was gone, leaving Nera alone in the Gray Lands. The chill and loneliness rushed in, nearly staggering her with a sense of hopelessness. All was silent for miles around with no sign of life, and she instinctively knew there was none. Nothing but ruin met her eye wherever she looked. Not even any moss or lichen covered the ruins, despite the moist fog. A city of the dead.
Nera shivered and walked in the direction Sabyl had led her, afraid to speculate on what lay ahead. She tried to focus on the fact that Sabyl had brought her further along the path to finding Malek.
She said she believes in me. Gods, how am I expected to carry such a weight on my shoulders? A moment of panic threatened to quench her fortitude as she struggled to comprehend the enormity of her task. The goddess’s words came back to her, and she was able to relax and calm herself a bit after a few moments. I have the qualities required to succeed, she said. I can do this. Getting here—and dying in the process—that was the hard part. Now that that’s out of the way, I just have to find that green mageling. One step at a time.
The thought of Malek being nearby made her smile although it was tempered by the knowledge he was in peril. She hastened her step with renewed purpose.
Chapter 22
Arron woke from a dreamless sleep
, well rested for the first time in longer than he could remember. A weight pressing on his arm brought him back to the present. Zita breathed softly beside him in the bed, her head resting on his arm. His eyes took in her curves as she lay against him, and he smiled, remembering the past night. Following a few hours spent cleaning up and securing the guild after the attack, the two of them had exchanged tales over a few drinks. The newly minted guildmistress had shown her gratitude for his timely rescue in a very suitable way, in his opinion. He looked at the sturdy frame of her bed, impressed that they hadn’t shaken it apart in their wild night of passion. The half-orc was at times rough and tender, alternating as it suited her, always keeping him off balance. The result was the best lovemaking he could remember in years, even better than he remembered from when they had dallied together several years back.
He sighed, remembering that he couldn’t linger much longer. He still had to find Nera although Zita seemed to believe she had gone off plane as well. Focusing his thoughts on the present, he gently slipped his arm from beneath her. She stirred but didn’t waken. He smoothed her thick mane of dark hair over her pale-green skin and traced a large tattoo across her back, a soaring bird of prey.
“Zar Jurrik. I need to find that arrogant bastard,” he muttered.
Zita stirred and looked at him questioningly. “The Torumel? He’s a prickly bastard. You think he can provide you a way off Nexus?”
“Mmm yes, my lusty lady, I do believe so.” He smacked her buttock for emphasis. “His magic can link to other planes, from what I hear.”
She laughed and ran a hand down his chest. “You had quite the appetite yourself.” She propped herself up on her elbows and kissed him hard on the mouth. “I suppose it best that I get moving as well. The guildhall—what remains, rather—is in shambles and needs to be tended to. I’ll have Knotton take you to Zar Jurrik’s hideaway.”
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