“The destroyer,” Offendorl said in awe.
The object seemed at first like a ball of flame, but then the flames pulled back and revealed a creature inside. The flames took the shape of great fiery wings. The creature was covered with black fur and had thick muscular legs and feet that resembled giant hooves. The feet touched down on the rooftop with a sound like thunder, the stone roof cracking under the iron-like hooves.
The creature’s upper body was similar in shape to a man’s, but was still covered in the short, black fur. Hulking muscles could be seen through the fur, and the creature’s face was anything but human. The face was almost like an empty space that had been filled in with flames. Eyes were visible, set deep into the waving flames. Hair hung down in oily ropes that outlined the fiery face. When the creature spoke, its voice was deep and carried to Zollin and Offendorl, who stood like statues watching what took place inside the ring of fire.
“You summoned me,” the creature said. “I am the destroyer. My name is destruction. You have spilled the blood of the innocent to call me forth. You shall be cursed as the queen of death.”
With that, the creature thrust one hand toward Gwendolyn. The movement happened fast and the hand seemed to plunge into her chest like a sword. The witch gasped in shock, pain, and surprise. Blood gushed from the wound, running down the front of Gwendolyn’s silky dress so that it clung to her body in a gruesome mockery of sensuality.
Then Gwendolyn’s face turned blood red. Her long hair fell from her head and the soft curves of her shoulders and hips thickened with muscles. Her fingers grew into pointed talons and her eyes began to shine with a wicked green light. Then she threw back her head and laughed.
“I give you an army to rule,” the creature said.
Then it held up it’s other arm and the ground began to shake. Zollin knew in that moment that escape was not possible. His fear was so great his chest began to ache with it. The castle rocked and swayed like a tall pine tree in a storm. The creature pulled its hand from Gwendolyn’s chest, leaving a ragged hole in her dress just below her breasts. Zollin saw the flesh take shape where a mortal wound should have been, and dark hair, almost as thick as the creature’s own fur, covered the wound. Gwendolyn’s shoulders were bare and no hair grew there, but the creamy white flesh was gone, replaced by the crimson that seemed to flow down from her face. Her neck thickened with veins, muscles, and tendons until it was much wider than before, the blood red skin pulled tight over the muscles and tendons so that they stood out. Zollin could almost see the blood pounding through the exposed veins.
Then the creature moved behind Gwendolyn, like a servant. The ground was still trembling and then it cracked, like the shell of a walnut. The crack tore the castle in two, causing Zollin to stumble back and then scramble away from the center of the rooftop where the split was. The roof tilted, but did not collapse. The buildings around the castle were not so lucky-they crumbled like ashen logs in a fireplace.
The air was filled with a horrible rending sound as the crack grew wider. Buildings fell, and then the city’s walls-the great, massive stone walls, once considered impregnable-crumbled. The crack stretched wider and wider, and screams could occasionally be heard. The Grand City was now in shambles, but Zollin could not see beyond the light from Gwendolyn’s ring of fire. The dark smoke-like clouds overhead had stretched as far as Zollin could see and grown so thick that the sunlight was completely blotted out.
Then, a new sound was heard. To Zollin it sounded like thousands of warhorses galloping across the field of battle. Smoke rose up from the crevice that had wrecked the city. The crack was still snaking its way east and west, opening up a gulf between the northern portion of Osla and the southern.
Offendorl was on the same side of the castle as Zollin, and both were clinging to the crenellated edge of the rooftop. Zollin felt completely lost in the darkness. A small part of him felt like a little boy again. There were nights after especially hard days with his father when he had lain in bed, the room in their small cottage completely dark, weeping for the mother he never knew. He had always felt out of place in Tranaugh Shire. He wasn’t skilled with his hands like his father, and didn’t make friends easily. He had felt invisible in the village, and utterly alone on those dark nights, almost without hope. He felt that same feeling now. He could see Offendorl in the dim light from the now distant ring of fire. He could see Gwendolyn, terrible and frightening as she gloried in the destruction around her, the nightmarish creature behind her impassive. Still, he felt completely alone.
Then Zollin thought of Brianna, her face clear in his mind. He felt both joy and sadness as he realized he would never see her again. He had loved and been loved by Brianna, and her memory was bittersweet. Then other faces appeared. His father’s face, determined yet loving. Mansel’s face, jovial and passionate. Kelvich, his late mentor, wise and also mischievous. Finally, Todrek’s face appeared. His oldest and best friend who had died in Tranaugh Shire. Guilt once more pierced Zollin’s heart as memories of his childhood friend flashed through his mind. Todrek had not wanted to follow Zollin from the village when the wizards and mercenaries from the Torr had attacked. Todrek had just married Brianna the night before. It had been the culmination of his friend’s dreams to take a wife and settle into life as an adult in the village. Zollin still imagined his friend, fat and happy, with children playing at his feet. That was what Todrek had wanted, but a mercenary’s blade had torn Todrek’s throat to ribbons and Zollin had been unable to save his life.
Then, shattering Zollin’s memories of the past, came the most hideous creatures he had ever seen. They rose on long oval wings like dragonflies. The wings buzzed with frenzied movement and the sound of thousands of the creatures rising from the rocky abyss was the rumble that Zollin thought sounded like galloping warhorses.
The creatures had bodies like horses, with short, thick legs and hooves, but from the chest up the creatures had the bodies of men. Shoulders and thickly muscled arms stretched out, with hands that were like claws. Their faces were oddly human, but their mouths were larger, and great, glistening fangs protruded from between their lips, reminding Zollin of the lions in the Northern Highlands. They also had long flowing hair that hung down past their shoulders to the middle of their backs. It was held in place by golden headbands. Their eyes had the same green glow as Gwendolyn’s now had.
But the worst part of all were the tails, which rose up from the thick, muscular hindquarters of their horse rumps and curled up over their backs. The tails were smooth and jointed, like the body of a spider. And on the tip of the tail was a massive stinger.
The creatures came in waves, pouring out of the dark crevice and swarming over everything in the city. Zollin didn’t think about what he was doing, but immediately began blasting the creatures with powerful bolts of magical energy. He didn’t give much thought to his magic, and the spells certainly weren’t sophisticated. He was fighting for his life and unleashing raw power that lit up the rooftop. Not far away, Offendorl was similarly engaged, sending streams of fire that burned the creatures up. Zollin’s energy attacks made the creatures shake violently, then fall to the ground in smoking heaps, their bodies blackened wherever the magical energy touched them.
The creatures that rose up from the dark crevice in front of Zollin attacked, but those to either side moved past him as if he wasn’t there. The bodies of the creatures began to pile up, their combined weight on the ruined rooftop making the building sway toward the crevice uncertainly.
“We have to get out of here!” Zollin shouted to Offendorl, but the elder wizard did not reply.
Zollin could smell the burning flesh of the bodies around him. But where his attacks seemed to stop the creatures cold, Offendorl’s fire wounded more than killed. The creatures kept coming at the master of the Torr. Then the castle shifted again, and Zollin climbed up onto the crenellated edge of the roof. More of the vile creatures were coming toward him, but he had just enough time to glance over toward
Offendorl. The elder wizard was like a maelstrom of living fire, but two of the closest creatures stabbed through the fire with their scorpion tails, their stingers piercing Offendorl’s ancient body.
The elder wizard’s scream sent chills down Zollin’s back. He didn’t hesitate anymore, but leaped from the edge of the rooftop that was leaning more and more toward the giant crack in the earth. He used his magic to see that he landed safely on the broken cobblestone street below. As soon as his feet touched down, he could feel the vibrations in the ground, but he didn’t have time to ponder why the ground seemed to continue to shake. Two of the creatures had followed him down and were almost on top of him.
Zollin let his magic blaze up, a single crooked bolt of magic lancing out from each hand and striking the creatures, one in each chest. The magic killed the creatures, but didn’t stop their momentum. Zollin was forced to swat them away with a powerful wave of magic that also hit the royal castle. The half of the massive structure that Zollin and Offendorl had been on collapsed, crumbling into the abyss with a crash so loud that it made Zollin’s ears ring.
Dust flew up and hid Zollin from view for a few seconds, allowing him to catch his breath and try to calm his heart rate a little. His magical containment was glowing hot from the amount of power he was using. He knew that if that magical containment broke down, the drain on his physical body from using magic would soon overwhelm him. He needed to get out of the Grand City, or what was left of it, but he didn’t know how. All around him the buildings were breaking down. If they hadn’t fallen from the violent movement of the earth when the crevice appeared, the horse-like creatures seemed to relish knocking them to pieces as they passed by. Zollin looked up and could still see Gwendolyn and her destroyer demon in the translucent ring of fire. Two of the centaur-like creatures were holding up Offendorl before Gwendolyn by their tails. Offendorl was writhing in pain as he hung in the air. Zollin wasn’t sure what the witch had in mind for the master of the Torr, and the thought went through his mind that perhaps the wicked elder wizard deserved it, but Zollin didn’t want to give Gwendolyn the satisfaction. He reached out with his magic, but it was once again repulsed by the ring of fire. Then Gwendolyn looked down at Zollin, obviously alerted to his presence when his magic touched her magical boundary.
Zollin didn’t wait to see what she would do-he simply turned and ran. He jumped over mounds of crushed stone, hurtling beams of timber that stuck out at odd angles like broken bones. Occasionally he supplemented his physical strength with magic, levitating himself over larger mounds of debris, but he tried to use as little magic as possible. He didn’t want Gwendolyn tracking his movements through his magic and he wanted to save as much of his magical power as he could.
He could hear the whirring of wings behind him and he glanced back to discover a small horde of the creatures coming for him. He knew he couldn’t outrun the creatures, so he ducked behind a small pile of fallen stones and shot energy back toward the creatures. One was hit-it spasmed in the air then fell dead in the street.
Zollin knew that blasting the creatures down one by one was not the best use of his magic, nor did it give him much hope of surviving the attack. There were at least a dozen more creatures rushing toward him. He let his magic flow out, and suddenly he realized that the tower of the Torr still stood. The mighty bastion of magical power had survived the earth-shaking crevice that had split the city in two and toppled most of the buildings in the Grand City. Zollin sent a spell flying up that smashed the already ruined roof of the tower. Then he threw up a magical shield around himself and covered his head with his hands as the debris began to fall around him.
The creatures were caught unawares by the falling stones and timber beams. Most were killed from the impact, but two survived, although they were both wounded. Zollin had just enough time to look up and see the creatures struggling out of the rubble, blood pouring from wounds they had endured.
It was then that Zollin realized the creatures were real. Perhaps they were conjured by dark magic and controlled by the witch, but they were flesh and blood. They could be killed. Gwendolyn may have wreaked havoc on the Five Kingdoms, but Zollin realized in that moment that she could be stopped. But he still had to find a way to get out of the city if he was going to lead the fight to destroy Gwendolyn and her destroyer demon.
Chapter 34
King Zorlan had almost made it back to the gatehouse when the lightning began. Fires erupted around the city as buildings were struck with the violent bolts of ragged, white energy. King Zorlan and his officers stopped running. Sweat was pouring off the overweight king, his face red from exertion and his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. The king had a sharp pain in his side and his legs felt like stone, but fear had kept him moving until the lightning started. Now, Zorlan felt naked and exposed. Only the roofs of a few buildings stood taller than the city’s outer walls.
Then the fireball descended from the black clouds above. It was radiant and captured the king’s attention, along with everyone else around the city. King Zorlan watched as it slowed, and his heart seemed to squirm in his chest like a restless puppy. He knew the display was magic, knew the fear that was making his heart race was magical, yet that knowledge did nothing to settle his nerves. He stood watching the distant rooftop of the royal castle as the light faded. Then the darkness set in so heavily that he could no longer see the wall beneath his feet.
“Light!” he bellowed. “Someone light a torch or lamp or something.”
“Sire, we’ve no materials.”
“I don’t want excuses,” Zorlan shouted. “Find a way to get me off this wall now!”
The darkness seemed to press down on King Zorlan. Then he heard the scream as one of the men around him fell from the wall. The scream chilled the king’s blood. Around him the officers fumbled about blindly. Zorlan got down on his hands and knees, crawling forward, determined to find the gatehouse and escape the terror of the city. His hands were rubbed raw and his knees aching with pain, his trousers torn and soaked with blood, but Zorlan didn’t stop. It was so dark he could only just make out the surface of the wall at arm’s length.
Then there was a crack so loud it made Zorlan cover his head with his arms. The king began to sob uncontrollably. He just wanted off the wall, he thought over and over. Then the ground began to shake and the sounds of buildings crashing made him feel like death was about to squash him under its boot heel at any moment. When the dark crevice reached the outer walls, it sent a shockwave through the stone that tossed King Zorlan into the air. He crashed back down, landing on his left side and jarring his shoulder. The horrible rending sounds continued, but Zorlan was moving again, his pain forgotten as he scrambled on all fours toward the gatehouse.
Then the rumbling of thousands of wings filled the air. Despair filled the king’s heart until he realized that he had reached the gatehouse. He searched frantically for the winding staircase that led down to the courtyard below. The sound of the thunderous wings grew more intense until King Zorlan was on the verge of panic. Finally he found the trapdoor and pulled it open. The stairwell was pitch-black, but the king didn’t hesitate. He scrambled to his feet and then, using his hands to steady himself against each wall, he hurried down into the darkness. A few moments later he was outside again, but this time he was on the ground. He couldn’t see, but he could hear the sound of something approaching and he didn’t want to be in the city when it arrived.
He felt his way to the massive gates and slipped through. The wide plain was before him and he began to run again. His feet hurt with each step, his knees ached and his hips seemed to grind in their joints as if someone had poured sand into the sockets. Still he ran, sweat dripping into his eyes, which he rubbed frantically. There was light in the distance, and he could make out the shadows of his the tents and the wagons of his army. Torches were being lit and a sense of relief flooded through King Zorlan. He would be safe, he though. He could hear someone barking orders, getting men into position. When he
came close enough to be seen by the soldiers, several started yelling.
“It’s the king!”
“It’s King Zorlan, sir.”
“The king’s returned.”
“Silence!” roared the duty officer. He was an older man, his back as straight as a rod, his face a mask of cold fury. He marched toward Zorlan, who was bent over, his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.
“Sire?” the man said, the uncertainty in his voice evident.
“Yes,” was all Zorlan managed to say.
“Orders, sire?” the man said, falling back on his training when the uncertainty of conversing with his king overwhelmed him.
“Name?”
“I’m Gentry, sire, Century Officer.”
“I want a horse, Gentry,” King Zorlan said. “Then I want a controlled retreat,” he panted. “I want to get as far from this place as possible.”
“Aye, my lord,” the officer said. “You heard the man-sound the retreat. I want soldiers around the king at all times. First squad, move your lazy asses.”
Soldiers surrounded the king, many with torches. A horse was led forward, but the animal was wild-eyed with fear. The sound of the thunderous approach was growing louder. There were screams coming from the darkness toward the city.
“We need to move, Captain.”
“I’m not a captain, sire, just a squad leader. Our captain was killed” the gruff man said.
“You’re the general of my army if you get me out of here alive,” Zorlan promised.
“Aye, sir. Let’s move men,” Gentry shouted.
They had moved beyond the tents and rows of wagons and were heading toward the main north-south road when the creatures from the dark abyss struck. There were nearly three hundred troops behind Zorlan now, all armed and marching in formation at a quick pace. The back row was struck first, and was the furthest from the light of the torches that surrounded King Zorlan. When the soldiers began to scream, King Zorlan turned. What he saw filled him with terror.
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