by Ben Hale
As his eyes dimmed he saw the light begin to gather on his sword hilt, and he smiled, before slipping into death.
***
Braon shuddered as he saw the end of the battle through the map. Just watching the titanic duel, his shoulders were clenched and the reek of sweat rose from his clothing. He doubted there had ever been such a display of skill, strength, or courage. Even the other rock trolls had fought like dragons. Having paid the ultimate sacrifice to their king, the last of Tryton’s trolls had gone down only moments before Tryton’s triumph. Now fiends rushed towards their dead general.
—the troll’s weapon began to pulse with energy—
Shining, even through the magical map, the light intensified until it became blinding—and then it exploded. The blast of magical energy shattered War’s armor into oblivion, sending sizzling chunks of metal into the fiends pouring towards Tryton’s body. Then it swept outward in a blinding ball of white flames, incinerating everything in its path. In less than a second, every fiend in a hundred paces was destroyed.
When the magic abated, the bare stone lay littered with fiend bodies, and King Tryton’s sword rose out of the knoll, alone.
War had been defeated.
Chapter 33: An Oracle’s Stand
Magic coursed through Siarra in a tide of power as she fought the valley of fiends. Reaching out for the energy around her, she launched it into her attackers. Chunks of stone hammered into a pack of Sipers, while fire and wind destroyed the snarling quare on the other side. Magic blossomed out from her to destroy hundreds, and then thousands, but the press of fiends was too strong, and they continued to draw closer to her small form.
Siarra sank deeper into the throng of energy, feeling countless powers swirl through—but it still was not enough. The leading edge of fiends clawed their way over their dead companions only to be struck down closer than the previous group. Inch by inch they gained ground, until now they died within arm’s reach from her flesh.
Anger and fear lanced through her, and she brought her hands together in a tremendous clap of sound and wind. Air exploded outward, driving them back once more, but she was beginning to feel her mounting exhaustion. Magic and energy were never meant to be used in such a fashion, and her body was beginning to give out.
She had held out using the amplious until the last second, hoping to buy her friends more time, and that time had come. Blinking away her fading vision, she focused her mind on the stone that had begun to shimmer blue on her chest—and abruptly Siarra’s eyes expanded as never before. She saw magic as she had never seen it, and with a scream of triumph she looked skyward.
In response to her call, the sky darkened, and air around her began to churn, catching the closest fiends and tossing them aside as if they were scraps of paper. Faster and faster the wind picked up, becoming blacker by the second until a tornado took shape around her—and it wasn’t alone.
Three other tornados touched down nearby and wreaked havoc on the surrounding fiends. Sipers, quare, skorpians, and even the mighty krakas were whisked skyward like feathers, dying by the hundreds as they struck the ground with brutal force. Their mighty roars and bellows of pain faded into the screaming wind.
In the center of the storm, Siarra glowed in a beacon of blue light. On her neck the amplious glittered and blue power flowed into her skin, seeping deep as it heightened her senses, strengthened her control, and enormously amplified her force. Her face became a mask of concentration as she willed the world's energy to unite in a single purpose.
In that moment, the cyclones began to draw closer, their paths angling towards the tornado protecting Siarra. Foot by foot the three whirlwinds drew nearer, plowing through the fiend army in relentless fury, until one merged with another—and then another—and then another.
Now Siarra stood in the center of a massive, screaming cyclone. Spanning a hundred feet, its black walls created an impenetrable wall of sheer power. Driven by hate, the fearless fiends threw themselves against the barrier. Their bodies hit the ground hundreds of feet away.
But the tornado was just the beginning.
Gaining in strength, the incredible cyclone blackened the sky as it reached outward. Thunderstorms appeared, filling the valley until the tornado became the eye of a shrieking hurricane that blanketed the valley. Lightning flashed, arcing into the ground and burning fiends where they stood, thundering its triumph at the slain enemies. Hail, wind-lashed into deadly shafts of ice, pierced the dark forms mercilessly—but Siarra still wasn’t finished.
Imbued with tremendous power and amplified by the ancient stone, Siarra’s vision saw the world for what it truly was. Colored light swirled and exploded throughout the universe in a stunning majesty that took her breath away—and for the first time, she saw a type of energy she’d never seen . . .
Unacknowledged, yet supremely powerful, it bound everything to the surface of the world. Reaching out to the fiends flying through the air, it dragged them to the earth when the wind let go, yanking them to a speedy death. Unfelt, it kept the stone around her from lifting into the sky, and kept mankind grounded. Its iron grasp had never been touched by any mage.
Until now.
Overcome by the magic flowing through her, barely holding onto her sanity, Siarra reached to her neck and tore the stone from her throat. Clenching it in her hand she screamed her fury at the army all around her—and plunged her fist into the stone at her feet.
The response was instantaneous. As if a large stone had been thrown into a pool of water, the ground rippled outward from Siarra’s buried hand. In radiating circles the swells rose and fell only a few feet—but where they went the power that kept the fiends grounded disappeared.
In seconds the entire fiend army rose off the ground, caught in the grasp of the howling tempest. Cries of rage and fear were lost as the massive storm tossed the fiends like leaves in the wind. Lightning coursed through multiple bodies on its way to the ground, shards of ice, as sharp as swords, plunged through others without mercy. Hundreds of thousands of fiends died in seconds, torn to pieces by the storm’s fury.
Siarra struggled to keep the magic going as long as possible, knowing that when it expired she would be done. Her energy would be spent, and there would be nothing left. Even a single surviving fiend could then slay her with ease. With so many of them in the valley, she knew she simply could not slay them all. Some would live, and those would kill her—but she had already accepted her fate.
After what seemed an eternity, she felt her strength begin to ebb. With all her might she forced the amplious deeper into the ground and released the binding power of the earth back into the valley. Rushing upward the land sought to retake what it had owned before. With several times its prior strength, the earth snatched the fiends out of the sky with so much force that the entire valley shook when they struck the ground. The survivors of the storm pummeled the valley floor, with some falling from hundreds of feet. Collectively, they died on impact.
Her willpower gone, her magic fading, and her strength waning, Siarra wavered and crumpled, and with her temporary loss of consciousness the storm dissipated. Struggling to open her eyes, she saw her entire right arm streaked with blue lightning, a permanent mark of using so much power.
Weakly she turned over her hand and found the amplious as white as a diamond, its power drained. She smiled to herself. She had played her part as well as she could have hoped.
Her diversion done, she slipped into oblivion.
***
Jack Myst stood on top of the eastern battlements of the destroyed bridge, holding on for dear life as the elements went insane. He’d been in storms before, and had even used them to do his work. A great tempest for him was like an old friend that hid him from guards.
But not this one.
This whirlwind was no ordinary storm. It seemed to have a mind, an intelligence to it that sought to slay every living creature in the valley. And he knew whose willpower guided it. Then he felt his body try to lift into t
he screaming wind. Scrabbling for a grip on the column next to him, he found crack and held on, annoyed at the brief sense of panic.
Gritting his teeth, he grasped the stone pillar with every ounce of strength he possessed, closing his eyes against the black fury of the oracle. But not being able to see just made it worse. He felt the lack of force holding him earthbound, he heard the wind tearing at his clothing, and tasted the cold rain slapping his face.
For one brief, terrifying second, he thought the pillar he was holding was going to lift into the sky. Then abruptly the screaming began to abate, and without warning the ground yanked him downward. Staggering to keep his balance he felt the storm begin to withdraw, so he turned and looked over the devastation in the valley.
Black corpses fell like rain, making him feel a rush of gratitude for his distance. He didn’t even want to think about what it would have been like closer to the epicenter. Bodies lay crumpled and broken in every direction, shattered, torn, and crushed by Siarra’s magic. Even though the storm had faded, it was as if the valley itself feared to breathe.
At last the whipping tornado dissipated, and even from his position, he saw Siarra collapse. Without a thought, he began to work his way down to her. Within a hundred paces, he reached the shattered remains of the stonework, and again, he felt grateful that he hadn’t advanced any closer. A minute later, he reached the outer edge of the corpses.
Treading carefully, he began the long journey towards the center of the valley—but then he spotted movement. One by one, fiends began to rise. Injured, yet still alive, a couple hundred began a slow advance, snarling their hate. Too far to get there in time, Jack reached into his pouch and withdrew the speedstone.
Activating it with a touch, Jack launched himself forward. Bounding thirty feet with every step, he covered the ground with the speed of an arrow. Reaching a pile of bodies and broken earth, he jumped twenty feet into the air and sailed over it, feeling the rush of exhilaration as the magic stone made his body lighter. When he reached top speed, the landscape blew past him in a blur, and in less than a minute, he reached Siarra—just as the stone’s magic gave out.
Drawing a dagger and a small, enchanted crossbow, he targeted the lead fiend. Taking him down, he aimed for the next, and the magic in the crossbow brought the next bolt into place. Although there were far more than he could handle alone, many were injured, and they were scattered. He took out as many as he could from a distance before he reloaded the chamber, readying himself for the close quarter work.
At last they reached him, and he moved with the grace and skill of a great cat. Bounding from one side to the other, he stabbed one, and then turned and shot a bolt, only to dart away from a charging siper. Leaping over it, he cut its spine, already engaging the next group as it fell behind him. Like an army of dead creatures, they dragged, crawled, and worked their way to him. Taking down the last of them in a flurry of blade work and several bolts, he spotted the two krakas making their way in his direction.
“Skorn's blade these guys don’t know when to quit,” he growled, checking if there were any more. A quick glance revealed nothing else moving except the two fiend captains. Glad there were no surviving skorpians, he ran through his inventory, wondering what could take one of the monsters down. Most of his magical items were designed to aid in escape, and couldn’t do much damage, but he settled on the one he hoped would work.
Just as one of the krakas began to limp faster in his direction, he grabbed a wad of putty and attached it to the end of his next bolt. Taking careful aim, he sighted at the slowly charging fiend. The small bolt flew true, and struck the kraka in the throat. A cloud of green air erupted around his head, seeping into his mouth and nose as he breathed in. Choking and coughing, the kraka died as the poison did its job.
Swiveling towards the last fiend captain, he brought his crossbow up, only to realize that the fiend had moved quicker than he’d thought possible. With the creature less than twenty feet away, he only had time to shoot once before dodging. The bolt went wide, missing by a foot. Charging, the kraka used his remaining good arm to swing the large obsidian sword, barely catching Jack in the leg as he dived away.
Jack took a sucking breath as he felt the hot, stinging pain from the glancing wound, but he rolled to his feet. With practiced movements, he snatched something from his healing pouch and slapped it on the wound. The gushing blood stopped immediately and the wound closed, but the pain remained. It was the strongest thing he had on him, but the wound was deeper than it had felt.
Doing his best to ignore it, he raced forward towards the back of the large kraka, who had taken several steps in Siarra’s direction. Bounding high, he landed on the creatures back, eliciting a bellow of surprise. Before the hulk could react, Jack stabbed his dagger into the creatures’ neck. The kraka cried out in pain and made a grab for him, but Jack had already leapt away.
Flipping into a cartwheel twenty feet off the ground, he pointed his crossbow and shot several arrows on his way down. Only two made it past the armor, but both sunk into flesh—and then they exploded as Jack activated a second trigger. With the dagger still in the kraka’s neck, the bolts brought him to his knees. Choking for breath, he came crashing down, and finally went limp.
Blowing out his breath, Jack rushed to Siarra’s side and gathered her frail form into his arms. “Come back to me Siarra," he whispered. "You need to come back to me.”
Siarra’s eyes fluttered open, “Jack? What happened?”
“You killed most of ̓em. I got here in time to take out the rest before they could get to you.” He couldn’t keep the smugness from his voice, causing her to smile.
“Have the fiends in the other valley come yet?” Her voice sounded airy and forced.
Jack was about to respond no, but then he heard the rising sound and the rush of pounding feet. He looked west in time to see a tidal wave of black forms burst from the pass. His heart sank like a stone. “Yes Siarra. They are coming.” He felt his arms tighten around her, pulling her to him.
“How much time do we have?” She asked wistfully.
“No more than a few minutes,” he said, feeling the biting emotion lance through him.
“It is enough.”
His gaze snapped to meet hers, for one brief moment hoping she was strong enough to use her magic, but then he saw her face.
Gingerly, her hand raised and touched his cheek. “My Jack. I hoped I would get a chance to tell you how I feel.”
His heart skipped a beat. This was not what he had expected. “What do you mean?”
Her light voice chuckled, like she was asleep and this was only a dream. “I have favored you for some time, but I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself. It is not for an Oracle to feel for a thief.”
He felt a tear press against the corner of his eye, and his lips tightened to control his emotion. “You tell me this now? When we are about to die?”
“I am sorry.”
Jack looked away, still fighting the hot tears from bursting forth. “I care for you too,” he whispered, shattering through the wall that had kept his heart guarded for so long.
“Then at least we can die together,” she said, and Jack turned back to see a soft smile on her lips. Weakly, her hand tightened around his neck and drew him to her.
Hesitant, Jack leaned in and kissed her. Soft at first, the contact sent tingles through his body. Unable to fight the rising anguish, he crushed her to him, wishing they had more time, and cursing himself for not acting sooner.
Then she pulled away, a small smile on her lips. "Farewell, Jack," she whispered.
Before he could respond, her arm slipped from his face and her eyes closed.
Even if he could have made an attempt to escape, he wouldn’t have. Clenching his eyes against the bitter tears, he held the still form to his chest.
Chapter 34: Mirror’s Edge
Taryn tried every trick of battle he’d ever learned, but nothing he’d ever been taught could get him past his own
mirror. The very essence of battle was creating an opportunity for victory, but doing that now—no matter what he tried—opened the same opportunity against himself. He tried one sword, two swords, and even his mother's bow. In perfect detail, his shade copied him.
He placed a sword on his opponent's neck—and felt the return blade touch his own.
He made to strike his foe with his fist—but stopped as the return blow flew towards him.
He even tried to remove his opposite's weapons—but his dark self reached for his.
After every failed attempt, he had to listen to the mocking laugh from his adversary.
Ten minutes passed, and then twenty. Soon thirty minutes had gone by, and he was no closer to defeating his matching adversary. Taking a break from his efforts, he roamed the exterior of the circle, feeling like a caged animal as he searched for some niche or crack he could use to climb upward. With the wide gap between him and the wall, he just couldn’t get a good look at the sheer face.
“This place was built as a prison, fool. There is no way to climb up.”
Taryn ignored Draeken, even though he knew he spoke the truth. Changing tactics, he walked to the center and stood inches from his foe. Cold black eyes and an expressionless face looked back. Slowly he began to move in a circle, hoping for some hint, some break in the magic that created the image.
