Rashnir seized the momentary distraction and sprinted from his protection, heading straight to the keys as his sword burst to life in holy glory. The mage’s fists lit with flaming bombs.
Absinthium threw the first one just behind Rashnir, leading him and using it to calculate a second throw that would tear the warrior to pieces when the werewolf suddenly clawed at him like a feral animal.
The sorcerer’s flaming bullet dissipated in a puff of acrid smoke and he reeled backwards. Absinthium spun and grabbed his toqeph, just slipping under the sharp claws of the furry mountain of muscle.
The mage spun his magically imbued staff with expert precision, blocking three strikes from the powerful lycan even as Rashnir hacked vainly at the chain which connected the keys. Absinthium caught Zeh-Ahbe’ in the chest with such strength that it seemed to defy the old man’s wiry frame.
Zeh-Ahbe’ was flung backwards several feet and landed on his rear as Absinthium hurled a crackling blast at Rashnir. The ranger leaped to the side as the raw power washed harmlessly over the indestructible keys.
The mage followed the blast with a second one intending to fry the helpless Zeh-Ahbe’. The lycan scrambled to the side and sidestepped the deadly burst just in time.
Rashnir jumped back into the central hub, sliding to the keys on his belly. He seized the large, golden key even as Zeh-Ahbe’ leapt, claws extended, and slashed at the wizard’s face.
“Nooooo!” Rashnir screamed. Time seemed to slow as he watched Absinthium duck low, and grab his toqeph with both fists. The sorcerer blasted Zeh-Ahbe’ as he sailed overhead.
Like an arrow, the lycan shot beyond and crashed through the throne, ripping it from its base mounts and breaking the metal fixture. The mangled seat toppled, hiding the werewolf's position.
The sorcerer whirled to face with Rashnir. A look of terror plastered itself upon Absinthium’s face—without even realizing it, Rashnir had turned the large, golden key within its mechanism. All the glowing lines flickered with a panicked kind of strobe effect.
Absinthium leveled his staff at the prone warrior. The glowing end of his toqeph vibrated and whirred as it blazed brilliant, about to discharge a lethal dose of eldritch energy into the sprawled ranger.
Rashnir gulped helplessly, and suddenly the energy bolt shot upward into the ceiling, breaking a hole open overhead. The arch-mage howled and collapsed to the floor beneath the weight of the blood-soaked werewolf who’d dug his claws into Absinthium’s shoulders.
Zeh-Ahbe’ scrambled off their wounded opponent and sprinted towards his friend, kicking the toqeph into the distance. “Quickly, we must flee!”
Getting to his feet, Rashnir whole-heartedly agreed with his friend. He yanked the golden key from its socket and slung the chain over his neck. All the luminous, shimmering lines went dark in an instant. “I couldn't agree more!”
They sprinted as fast as they could from the darkened chamber even as Absinthium clutched for his staff, spitting vitriol and hate as they fled.
***
All of the sudden, both beh’-tsah and peh’-shah staggered under the wave that pulsed out from the Babel Keep. They each stumbled like something had struck them dizzy.
They stood there, glaring at each other as the ghoul army held their own against the lurching advance of the under-demons pledged to the rebel. Neither lord moved. Each one's thoughts caught up in the sudden turn of events.
peh’-shah leveled a finger at his counterpart. His accusation boomed across the sky.
“What vile treason is this? Are you this desperate to beat me in combat? You have committed the unthinkable!”
The Lord of the Gathering merely stared at him. He refused to answer the question, completely unsure of exactly how this had happened. Foul play had certainly been afoot. First, a secret army lay hidden from him by his most loyal worshipper, and then the leylines which empowered the members of the Gathering beyond the other demons suddenly fell silent.
beh’-tsah turned his head to the keep’s tower. Only Mesler remained at his perch, watching the battle by himself. The demon grimaced and turned back to the rebel. He roared in defiance, bellowing a challenge to peh’-shah, taunting him into further attack.
Neither beh’-tsah nor peh’-shah was willing to tap into their innate power and press the battle further—not until the sudden blockage of power was vetted.
peh’-shah glowered, stabbing his enemy with his malevolent eyes. The demon stepped a few paces back, and then pulled out in full retreat, concentrating all of his forces on breaking the line of ghouls meant to prevent stragglers from a route. They wouldn't stand up against a concentrated force in withdrawal—not since they still had measurable strength in his army.
Eager to get to the bottom of it, beh’-tsah snarled at him but let the invader go. He turned and flew towards the Babel Keep.
***
On the northwest slopes of the Briganik Mountains, Wynn and his troop of acolytes laid in concealment. Using intricate telescopes and shama’ spells they silently waited, collecting data as they stalked their prey. His master had given them this special task.
Wynn basked in the glory of his master’s praise following the capture of the enemy leader at Sprazik. Unlike his predecessor, Wynn had proved capable of standing toe to toe with the krist-chin threats and emerging victorious. He allowed himself this token vice and reveled in the vanity.
He assumed the threat of heretics would greatly diminish with the capture of the cult’s figurehead. It seemed likely, then, that another mission would come up so quickly: a sensitive mission requiring great stealth.
Following Sprazik, Absinthium commissioned him to locate the source of the sudden influx of qâsamai. While the Order dabbled in many aspects of their trade, the sales of seeing stones had been wrecked by the suddenly high volume of the devices, the reasoning felt more sinister than economic warfare. Absinthium suspected that some nefarious source had ulterior motives other than mere profit—why else flood the market?
The mage suspected that whoever sent these stones abroad was using them to build an unsuspecting spy network by eavesdropping upon any qâsamai with a parent stone secretly bound this new generation.
Using a series of hand signals to communicate with his brothers who hid across the slope in deep camouflage, he verified what he was seeing. A large mud and stone warehouse set back off the main path appeared to be the target they’d been searching for. Traders had come and gone, mostly hired hands—paid traders and movers delivered orders and received shipments.
Occasionally the door swung open. Magic gave them access to the conversations but only revealed info on business contracts and shipping schedules. Little had been identified beyond the local source. The true supplier still remained a mystery—one that his men were tasked with solving.
Suddenly, the shama’ faded and faltered. Wynn raised his eyebrow in ire and flashed some signs to his peers. They experienced the same thing. Their tie-in to their master’s power had been severed.
Incredulous as to its meaning, the door swung open again and Wynn's keen eyes caught a glimpse of something new. The creature visible through the door was clearly an Anakim—a massive, first-generation offspring of a human woman and a Nephilim.
Wynn desperately wished he could hear the giant’s conversation. More than that, he hoped that the sudden block of his access to magic was not in any way connected to whatever plot had urged an Anakim to journey to the opposite side of the mountain range as their community.
***
Jibbin felt the heat rolling off the raging fire nearby. On short legs, he fearfully fled the skirmish line where he heard his fellow actors shriek in terror. Mercenaries had joined the Luciferian adherents from the city before they could do their play again. They showed no mercy.
“Kantror must be cleansed!” a voice rose above the din. Jibbin recognized it from the town: it was the tainted voice of the demon-possessed man from their first performance, the same one
that Zeh-Ahbe’ had freed from supernatural control. He must have gone back to him!
Looking back momentarily, the boy spotted Haisauce. The temporary leader in Rashnir's absence tried to escape the two armor-clad warriors who pursued him carrying blades slicked red from both blood and ‘ãbêdâh fluid. He turned and ordered Jibbin to run, ignoring the two arrows that protruded from his back.
Haisauce turned back and crossed swords with his pursuit. The Christian chopped one of the men down, but the other struck him from his weak side. As Jibbin watched in terror, the enemy stood over his friend and delivered a killing blow.
Pandemonium gripped the camp as tents nearest the flaming trees began catching fire and the violent intruders pressed hard against the overmatched defenders. Jibbin tearfully watched one of the other children, a boy his age, run across the rocky soil and drop to his knees, wailing over the body of his dead mother.
Jibbin screamed as a helmeted mercenary walked up to the child and swung his bloody scimitar, cutting down the boy who suddenly joined his parent in eternity. The mercenary looked up and saw Jibbin shrieking in terror. A horrible grin crawled across the villain’s mouth.
Turning to flee, Jibbin raised his hands against the wall of flame, shielding his face as much as possible. He couldn't see anymore living Christian adults. Nothing but death remained behind him—nothing but death appeared before him.
His heart clamored for rescue. God help me! Where are you, Rashnir?
The line of burly, bloody mercenaries crept towards him. There was nowhere to go, but let his spirit fly to the western gate.
Where are you, Rashnir?
The boy turned and dashed as quickly as possible towards the line of flaming tents where the dead mother had been washing clothes earlier. He had to find help! He ran through a sheet that had been hung to dry—still soaked!—and somersaulted through the flames.
***
Bwar stepped over the putrefied bodies of dead goblins that had lain exposed to the air for several days before his arrival. He considered sending a crew of his dwarves in to clean out the carcasses. It would have been easy to pile them high and push them out of the broken tunnels where they emptied into the depths of the Drindak Canyons. Bwar decided against it—he thought it an important token of the dwarves’ triumphal re-entry to their rightful home.
He grinned as he spun, taking in the glory and grandeur of the view. His greedy eyes drank in the scenery as he and his dwarven brethren filtered into the immense halls. The dwarves tore down obscene goblin contraptions and rickety construction which had been erected throughout the place. Goblin huts populated the great hall which had been converted to their grandest city; Dwarven brothers and sisters set them on fire, smashed them to pieces, or otherwise annihilated them.
A massive flood of his species spilled in from the myriad entrances, answering the call he had sent out across Gleend. Bwar demanded their presence at his coronation and the installment of a new dwarven empire under his rule.
Bards sang rousing songs which got their hackles up as he ascended the raised platform with great pomp and circumstance. At the summit, he raised a ceremonial battle hammer above his head and howled victoriously. The hammer elicited a chorus of cheers.
A servant helped him don the old kingly robes which his people had preserved for millennia. Bwar scanned the audience, looking for Elo’misce. She had promised her presence to make a political statement. Her absence did not much to wound his pride, but he had hoped she would make it.
Feasting and celebrations stretched out through the day. Evening drew nigh with the wine running strong and long, immense drums began booming at the far end of the hall announcing the arrival of an important goblin. The crowd scowled and bared their teeth at him as he approached. He approached holding the unmistakable mithril crown that his ancestors had wrested from the dwarven progenitors so long ago.
As the crowd parted in the distance, Bwar could make out grr’Shaalg’s dark form, topped by his purple fez. He held the crown high for all to see and the crowd began cheering his arrival as he meandered ever closer to the throne.
He crawled up the platform and Bwar winked at him with his wine-warmed cheeks. The raucous mob applauded as he bent low for the goblin to set the precious crown upon his brow. grr’Shaalg’s blockish metal amulet swung in front of his eyes and Bwar stared at it as it swayed. This amulet boasted a number of carvings and decorative engravings.
Even through his wine-buzzed vision, he realized the deception far too late. Like the rest of his kind, he had a far better eye for metalwork and crafted art than he did for the faces of other species.
The Shadow-King’s amulet was plain and unadorned! Bwar looked into the goblin’s eyes. “Yer not grr’Shaalg,” he stated as he stood to his feet, standing a full head higher than the imposter.
As he stood, the dwarves announced him as their official king with a thunderous blast of their loud horns. The fake grr’Shaalg laughed as the signal went up. And Bwar instinctively understood his betrayal. “But I had a speech prepared,” he lamented as the instruments’ blast echoed through the chamber.
All the pillars throughout the hall simultaneously exploded at top and bottom, blasting with alchemical fury. Chemical fire broke the supports carved throughout the massive gallery, shattering every stone column that held up the ceiling…and the Drindak mountains.
Standing upon the mountain path high overhead, the ground faltered under grr’Shaalg’s feet where he stood with Elo’misce. The entire mountain range shuddered and the nearby massif collection sank and lurched. The sky above cracked and boomed with sickening, crunching sounds and the shrieking moan of tectonic movement.
After several long moments, hot blasts of air blew dust out of the portals and vented into the Drindak Canyon. It finally settled and the air grew calm again.
Breaking the newly dawned silence Elo’misce giggled with pleasure. “Is it finished?”
grr’Shaalg laughed. “The dwarven empire is no more. Gleend is now an elven nation. It will be your responsibility to mop up any aboveground stragglers. The new goblin kingdom of gLarmng has been warned against trespassing aboveground without a treaty.”
Elo’misce smiled. “Our deal is struck, and you have upheld your end beautifully.” She smiled at her goblin counterpart who parted company.
The goblin slid down a hole in the earth that none other than a goblin could recognize as such. The elf walked a little ways down the trail and found a simple shack in the foothills of the Drindak range. She kicked in the door.
Bre of Lars sat at the foot of a bed in the middle of the flat.
“You’re a long way from Lars, aren’t you, elf?”
He grinned as she approached seductively. “I felt the ground rumble.”
“You haven’t felt anything, yet,” she winked.
***
Rashnir trailed only slightly behind Zeh-Ahbe’ as they sprinted for the demon realm’s only exit. Even nursing a limp, the lycan could run faster. The keys jangled around Rashnir’s neck as he ran for his life. The heads of all ekthro who resided in Paradise turned their heads inquisitively as the duo dashed past.
Looking behind, the intruders saw the old man in pursuit as the Babel Keep shrank with the distance. Absinthium seethed with rage; his speed surprised them as he kept the pace. He obviously had no intention of letting them leave alive.
The arch-mage screamed curses and rallied any nearby troops and fiends loyal to his master. They turned to join the pursuit as Absinthium screeched, demanding the murder of the krist-chin fugitives. Over the course of a mile, an entire throng filled in behind the sprinting arch-mage.
Rashnir poured on more speed, praying he would not stumble and hoping that a second wind would kick in any second. He cast his gaze forward; Rashnir didn’t have any plan of escape past reaching the top of the Babel Spire first. He could only pray that some opportunity presented itself.
Zeh-Ahbe’ pointed ahead and shoute
d something at him. Rashnir could not understand the words that his pounding heart muted but he saw what he pointed to. Much further ahead moved three figures: Jorge, Karoz, and Kevin. They limped ahead at a much slower pace. Jorge and Kevin were both injured and Karoz was weak and blind from eons in captivity. Rashnir guessed that they would arrive at the exit from Paradise at approximately the same time… only a few short minutes.
Drooping his head, the warrior stared at his feet while they continued the retreat; almost a mile separated him from their escape point. Foot after foot, step after step. The cries of the swelling horde in pursuit grew louder in his ears as he pushed his body, demanded his lungs to continue sucking down breaths.
The mile passed quickly—too quickly for any plans to come to mind! Rashnir spat out the thick wad of phlegm that his lungs pushed to the surface of his throat. They needed a miracle.
***
“No. It can’t be,” Jaker groaned incredulously.
The drunken monk, Minstra, waved awkwardly from the countertop he’d slumped over. He pushed himself up and staggered over to the former ranger.
Jaker got one smell of him and winced at the overpowering scent of alcohol. He took a few steps out and onto the dining terrace so that the air could dispel the overwhelming scent of pickled monk.
Minstra slung his arm over Jaker’s shoulder. Clearly uncomfortable with that, he shrugged it off.
“You know, you’re maybe the only friend I got right now?” the monk slurred.
“Oh great,” Jaker said with an eye roll. He turned to look at the tower, instead, hoping that the drunk man would get the hint and move on.
“Hey.” Minstra looked suddenly very serious and tapping the ranger on the chest. “Hey, we should go up it.”
Jaker sighed. “I can’t believe it. I leave Grinden to try and find my next big thing and you all follow me here.” He disgustedly picked up a menu and continued venting. “I had to dodge Pinchôt and his Luciferian buddies earlier when I spotted them out in the square, too. The next thing I know, I’m gonna see Rashnir and Kevin come walking outta the Babel Spire over there.”
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 88
