A shrill cry broke from Breem’s lips. He groped for his sword, but the beast held him fast. It gave that same eerie laugh and glared at the men looking on in wide-eyed disbelief. One of the Empire soldiers rushed to his commander’s aid without regard for his own life, but Morgaroth just hit him with its bare fist, sending the smaller man reeling backward. Another two charged in with their weapons drawn, and the creature cut them down with a broad sweep of its giant sword. It looked around for any other fool who’d dare challenge it, savoring its victory. It kept Breem pinned, tightening its grip and reveling in the pain it was inflicting.
Several yards away, Braxton lashed out with the spirit magic’s tendril, converting it into a whip that hit Morgaroth across the face, ripping into its skin. The beast roared in pain and stepped back, covering its wound. Two nearby soldiers grabbed Breem and pulled him to safety as the remaining Empire faithful, their confidence renewed, created a defensive wall around their beloved leader. When the creature looked back, Braxton saw the hatred reflected in its eyes and the deep cut the energy whip had inflicted on its already gruesome face. Without warning, Morgaroth attacked. Speaking some unholy word in its guttural tongue, it sent an intense fire ripping through Braxton. It burned unlike anything he’d felt before, as if ignited from the inside. He collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain, unable to stop the excruciating sensation. Then just as quickly as it started it was gone, leaving him gasping for air. His senses screamed for him to get up. Rolling aside, the huge sword swung down past him, narrowly missing his head and hitting the ground with a tremendous blow. Brax scrambled away, stumbling over several bodies to get to his feet. He panicked at the thought of that pain returning and how close the sword had come to ending his life. Turning, he fled. Morgaroth pursued him, cutting down friend and foe alike in its desire to get at him. Braxton thought of nothing else but escape, his innate need to survive overwhelming his senses and every ounce of remaining strength feeding his flight.
Focus! Serene’s single word shot through his mind, and for a moment, the energy returned. But then it was gone, as the pure terror took hold, banishing all other thoughts but that one instinctive desire to flee, to survive, to avoid the certain death that pursued him.
The pain returned, even more excruciating than before, erupting into an explosive molten fire within him. It threw Braxton to the ground, and he rolled around in agony. He wanted to die, to scream, to do anything that would stop the pain. Then, just as quickly as before, it stopped. For a fleeting moment, he felt Serene’s warming presence and sensed her light—an echo calling to him to awaken, to stand his ground, to trust her. His desire to flee faltered, and he lay there, still bound by raw terror, petrified of the evil energy and the pain it would bring. Slowly he turned and looked at Morgaroth. The beast was a few feet away, coming for him with a mindless rage, driven to madness by the injury he’d inflicted. It wanted to catch him, to kill him, to rip him apart, and Braxton knew it.
Every sense in his body told him he’d die if he stayed, and all his instincts that had kept him alive hunting in the Vales screamed for him to get up and run, to stay alive at all costs. But there was something else. Somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, in some indefinable place, some calming presence told him to stand, to face his fear, that he could defeat this monster. The instant that he allowed the possibility of another option—something beyond raw fear—Braxton Prinn was free. The chains that bound him to his terror fell away.
Morgaroth was upon him, its sword held high, ready to strike Brax down in a single blow. To end his life. To fulfill its evil desire. Its victory at hand.
When Braxton stood up.
Yes! came Serene’s intense voice, and the energy burst from inside him, smashing into Morgaroth, knocking the creature back several paces. Again and again, it poured out of him and into his opponent, causing the beast to retreat farther and farther back, twisting and turning in agony as the pure and radiant light assaulted it. Each time the spirit magic struck, Braxton felt a connection to this demon, to its hatred, its vile existence, and its thirst to enslave all life. Over and over, the connection repeated with each renewed assault until finally, for one brief and fleeting moment, Braxton pitied Morgaroth—its primitive life and what it had chosen to become. And he paused. Instantly Morgaroth struck back, sending endless waves of intense pain searing through Braxton, knocking him to the ground. Brax screamed in agony, squirming in the dirt of the Breaker Dunes like some pitifully small and tortured animal.
Then a strong and intense pressure pushed down on his chest, and Braxton’s terror returned. Morgaroth had him pinned, just like it had done with Breem. Its powerful clawed foot pressed Brax into the earth. The pain of the energy ceased, and Braxton looked up through watery eyes at the thing he feared. Morgaroth towered above him, its lips curled away from its yellowed teeth in a leering grin, and its enormous sword mere inches from Braxton’s face, ready to strike.
“Die, little thing,” it growled.
Time seemed to slow, like holding Shelindûhin. He watched his enemy as the sounds of the battle faded away. Blood pounded in his ears. He thought of all the friends he’d known on this journey and who had fallen before him. They flashed through his mind one after the other. Death had come to him, he knew. His life was over.
Inexplicably a motion caught Braxton’s attention, a brief image at the edge of his vision that moved near Morgaroth’s side, something he knew wasn’t real. He wrenched his eyes from the impending death hovering before him, and looked at it.
Grandpa Ty.
Morgaroth screamed out in pain, and the image of his grandfather disappeared. Brax lay on the ground in the Breaker Dunes, painfully aware of his surroundings. The noise of the ongoing war flooded back into his senses. Morgaroth no longer held him. Slowly, as though waking from some unnatural dream, Braxton lifted his head to see what could have prevented the creature’s strike. Morgaroth stood a few feet away, clutching a thick spear that had pierced its chest. Dark, pitch-like blood dripped from the wound.
“It seems I’m destined to help you,” came a deep, familiar voice.
Brax twisted to look behind him.
“Sotchek?” he asked incredulously. “Is that you?”
“It is.” His big friend knelt and helped him sit up.
Morgaroth gave a shrill call. It pulled Sotchek’s bolt from its chest and flung it to the ground. The beast raised its head high and gave another loud and terrifying scream.
“That is for me.” Sotchek nodded. “Though this enemy may be well beyond my skill to defeat. It is likely I fight my last today.”
“What? No, you can defeat him. You must defeat him!”
“This creature is from another world with different rules. Only there can it be defeated. My only hope is that it’ll flee back to its home.”
Morgaroth gave another roar and Sotchek stood up. “But that seems unlikely now,” he said. Then his gaze fell upon Braxton’s waist, and a curious look crossed his brow.
“Is that . . . by chance . . . Shelindûhin?”
“What . . . ? Oh, yes.” Brax was surprised that he knew about Phinlera’s sword.
Sotchek smiled for the first time. “That weapon would serve me well, if you’d be willing . . . ?”
“Of course.” Braxton pulled the Leaf from his belt and handed it over.
“Hope is possible,” the mountain man said, almost to himself, then turned and faced Morgaroth.
Chapter 42
Braxton scrambled to his feet, anxious to witness the final confrontation between Sotchek and Morgaroth, and to aid his friend in the fight he knew might well determine the outcome of this war. But he stopped short. To the south, a new and immensely large army clustered together in loose groups of a hundred or more powerful-looking fighters, extending the full length of the southern Mins’ flank and disappearing into the eastern horizon. Each seemed to hearken from a different clan among their seemingly endless tribes, wearing furs, animal skins, or leather pants that exte
nded to their knees, leaving their muscular chests bare. It was their formidable height, though, that surprised Brax the most, standing a foot taller than the Mins and dwarfing the nearby allied soldiers. Most had icons attached to their skin or carried banners from which totems hung, wielding heavy-looking clubs or long throwing spears. They stood apart from the battle, waiting, it appeared, for some reason to join the fight. The Mins, however, were turning their ranked formations to face yet another new threat. With the return of Sotchek, Braxton realized, the ogre nations had joined the war.
Morgaroth’s horrific call jolted Brax’s attention back to the confrontation with his friend. The two adversaries faced each other in a circle that had appeared within the fighting. Braxton felt a deep pull from the energy’s source, similar to what he’d experienced with the Witch Sisters, like the drawing of a long, full breath. Morgaroth, he realized, was going to use its evil magic to attack Sotchek.
Disrupt it! Serene instructed. Brax called upon the spirit magic closest to his consciousness, sending out another whiplike tendril to hit Morgaroth. It lacked the penetrating power of his original attack but was sufficient enough to break the dark creature’s concentration, and he felt Morgaroth’s energy subside. The beast looked at him with loathing. Brax knew Morgaroth wanted to break him. He swallowed hard. If Sotchek failed, he would be its next victim.
Sotchek attacked with such incredible speed—fueled by Shelindûhin—that he seemed to disappear from view in front of Morgaroth and reappear behind his opponent, burying his ax deep between the creature’s shoulder blades. Bellowing in response, Morgaroth swung around with its sword held level, intending to decapitate Sotchek. It moved at an instinctive pace that seemed so unnatural for its large size that Sotchek barely had time to duck, even while holding the Leaf, and the beast’s enormous sword passed swiftly overhead. Taking advantage of the momentum, Brax’s friend pulled a knife from his boot and sank it into his enemy’s exposed underarm. Morgaroth let out a terrible sound and struck back with its energy. This was an attack Shelindûhin could not foresee, and it hit Sotchek in the chest, knocking him back a dozen paces or more to land heavily on the ground.
He will not long survive those strikes, Serene said. Feel the pull on the energy and stop them before it lashes out.
Sotchek was on his feet again, brushing aside the blow that would have stunned a normal man, and attacked. But this time, Morgaroth was waiting for him and struck first with its magic, spinning Sotchek about and sending him hurtling anew. It took Brax’s friend a moment to recover, but he was soon up and circling, watching his opponent’s every move. Recognizing Sotchek’s inability to defend himself against its magical strikes, Morgaroth grinned and summoned a larger amount of its dark power, lashing out with a stronger blast. Braxton felt it, connected somehow to this creature by an invisible cord. He summoned a barrier, awkward and unformed, around Sotchek, blocking Morgaroth’s attack. The demon looked at him with hatred, and, for a moment, Brax thought Morgaroth might turn on him.
Sensing the distraction, Sotchek rushed in, angling past his rival’s larger weapon, and cut a long swath across his stomach. The elven blade ripped into Morgaroth’s black skin, opening a gaping wound. The beast screamed and swung about wildly, anxious to get at Sotchek now. Over and over, it tried to snare him, needing one successful blow to end Sotchek’s life. But the skilled mountain warrior, empowered further by the speed of the Leaf, slipped past its attempts, each time delivering back a painful blow. Braxton watched in awe at Sotchek’s skill with Shelindûhin and his ability to strike at the precise moment to cause Morgaroth the most pain. The creature lashed out repeatedly with its energy, but Braxton was ready, sensing the pulling sensation an instant before and deflecting its magical power.
Morgaroth suddenly hurled its giant sword at Brax, and he dropped at the last possible moment to avoid being skewered by the massive weapon. But it was the distraction Morgaroth needed. Laying on the ground, Braxton felt an immense pull on the energy’s source that he couldn’t stop in time. A large dark shadow rushed out of Morgaroth, engulfing Sotchek and hiding them both, blocking all light from the afternoon sun and releasing a chill wind into the Dunes.
No! It is forbidden! Serene’s surprisingly masculine voice rang in Braxton’s mind, and he cringed at the unusual sound. The shadow changed into a fiery blaze, forcing everyone back. A moment later it disappeared, leaving a burnt ring in the dirt. Braxton’s stomach dropped as he stared in disbelief.
Morgaroth and Sotchek were gone.
Bellowing horns drew Braxton’s attention to the south and a thunderous vibration reverberated across the Gap of Dunes. With a deafening roar, the ogre nations charged into the southern flank of the Mins like a ferocious storm. For a moment, the surprised Minotaurs stood firm, holding their line in anticipation of the onslaught, but as the wrath of this larger fresh enemy approached, several thousand strong, the bands of Mins faltered. No longer united by the power of Morgaroth, they broke and fled.
Braxton and the allies, weary from hours of fighting, barely had time to avoid being crushed by the ogres’ charge into the rear of the routing Mins, cutting them down or trampling them under hardened foot. It seemed the ogres were bent on destroying the Mins now—or perhaps just unable to stop once started. They chased the fleeing invaders with unyielding ferocity toward the Spine. As this giant wave from the south pursued their panicked foe, the combined stalwart strength of the dwarves fighting to the north and the renewed countercharge of the elves and men against their frontal line crushed the Mins. Their remaining numbers scattered into the plains.
By sundown, the war in the Breaker Dunes was over.
Chapter 43
Braxton stood in the central Andorah plains surrounded by the aftermath of the war between the western nations and the race of Minotaurs. Piles of carcasses burned every few hundred yards, stacked high with the bodies of elves, humans, dwarves, and Mins. The stench was almost unbearable, and the ash that blew in the warm evening air only served to accentuate the sickening feeling. He looked up as another Talonguard flew low overhead. The keen eyes of the elven mounts searched for survivors among the countless dead. Grim-faced warriors from the defending races moved about stoically, gathering the hewn bodies of both friend and foe, clearing the carnage from the war that had almost destroyed the elven nation. No one spoke beyond what was necessary to complete their task. Arbor Loren had been saved, yes, but at a terrible price. Almost a third of the elves lay dead, along with thousands of dwarves and men. But swords and bows had been set aside now as the warriors helped their fallen comrades find swift passage to the afterworld.
It was the black circle burned deep into the dirt around the final confrontation between Sotchek and Morgaroth, though, that kept Braxton’s attention. He replayed the fight over and over in his mind, wondering if he could have done more to have changed the outcome and saved his friend. Sotchek’s arrival had signaled the ogre nations joining the war, and their powerful warriors had swung the tide in their favor, but losing another companion to this senseless invasion wore at Braxton’s resolve. Victory may have been won for the elves, but it had cost so much.
The thought of Sotchek in Morgaroth’s dark, abysmal home, facing some unearthly end, drained Brax of his remaining strength. In time, death came to all, he knew. He could accept that as natural. But the eternal torture that potentially lay ahead for Sotchek haunted him. Even holding the Unicorn Blade now provided little comfort. Serene had left as well, promising to provide whatever protection she could for Sotchek, saying that Morgaroth’s actions in breaking the laws of the spirit world had allowed her to intervene, giving her permission to help. But her words seemed hollow. And her departure at this emotional time only added to him feeling small and alone.
The heat and stench of the burning fires filled the air, and his eyes watered. He choked out a dry cough and brushed aside the ash floating in front of his face. Rubbing the toe of his boot against the soot line, Braxton smeared its dark mark, as if brea
king the ring Morgaroth had created might somehow change the outcome. He thought about Phinlera and wondered again for the countless time if she’d survived, or if her death awaited him in Arbor Loren. He was desperate to see her again, but for the moment, not knowing her fate was better than the one he feared.
“Ya done well, lad,” a gruff voice called to him from some lost and distant past. “Your father would be proud.”
Vaguely aware of his actions, he turned toward the sound. Ruskin stood amid the haze of the despoiled plains, leaning heavily on his notched ax, his smoldering pipe emitting white plumes among the more sorrowful gray. Brax smiled at his friend.
“Doesn’t look so bad.” The dwarf stepped over the scorched line and gazed around unenthusiastically. “Can’t see what all the fuss was about, or why it took so long. Probably no dwarves here, eh?”
Braxton nodded. “It’s really good to see you,” he said. At least Ruskin had survived. At least one of them had made it through.
“Brax!”
He turned in the direction of Penton’s voice and grabbed Bear as the elkhound jumped up and licked his face. Braxton grinned, in spite of himself, and rubbed Bear’s ears. Pen embraced him warmly, and Brax buried his face deep into his brother’s shoulder, hiding his emotions. When they separated, he wiped a hand across his nose and sniffed.
“Where’s Gav?”
Penton’s smile vanished. He shook his head and turned away, unable to speak. Braxton felt punched in the stomach. His knees gave way, and he dropped to the ground.
Cathadeus_Book One of the Walking Gates Page 28
