I drove her back, hammering with my staff and axe, and she retreated, sword flashing as she parried and blocked.
“Yes,” she hissed. “Yes, you understand. You wish to die as I do. Then come! Let us die together!”
I pushed her back, driving her towards the creek. Her wings flexed, and once she reached the bank of the creek, I knew she would take to the air again.
But this time blue fire swirled behind her, and Mara attacked. Her sword and dagger moved in a blur, and she sliced open the urdhracos’s right wing. The urdhracos screamed in pain and whirled, driving her blade towards Mara, but Mara had already traveled away.
And I had my opening to attack.
I thrust my staff at her face, forcing her to block, and swung with my axe. The urdhracos backed away, snarling, and I kept up the momentum of my attack. She blocked and dodged, and at last, I pushed her to the edge of the creek. There was no more room to retreat, and she went on the attack, hooking her sword against my staff and ripping it from my hand. It was a brilliant piece of swordsmanship and it should have won the fight for her then and there.
But I still had my axe, and it took her a half-second to recover her balance.
In that half-second, I swung my axe with both hands and buried the weapon in her right side, just above her hip. The urdhracos screamed, and I wrenched the axe free and hit her again, slightly higher this time.
She fell to her knees with a clang of armor, the sword falling from her fingers, her wings hanging limply behind her.
Mara, Kharlacht, and Caius ran to join me as I lifted my axe, the black slime of her blood dripping from the blade.
“Yes,” whispered the urdhracos, something like relief flooding her face. “Yes, at last. End it. End it. End it.”
Chapter 5: Lives
“Wait,” said Mara. “Wait.”
I hesitated. I ought to have killed the urdhracos at once. They can heal quickly, and in a few moments, both her wings and the wounds I had carved into her side would close. Unless I took her head off, she would heal and attack us once more.
“Kill me,” croaked the urdhracos. “End it at last.”
“No,” said Mara. “We can help you.”
The urdhracos shivered and closed her eyes as Caius and Kharlacht came up to join us.
“The only help that can be had for me,” whispered the urdhracos, “is death.” She opened her void-filled eyes. “Please.”
“I am like you,” said Mara. “I almost transformed into an urdhracos. But I faced myself. I directed the transformation. You’ve heard the Traveler’s song in your mind your entire life. But it’s gone now. A different song can take its place. The song of your own blood.”
“I already transformed,” said the urdhracos. A spasm of pain went over the pale face. “It is too late for me. End it and let me know peace at last.”
“At least let Brother Caius baptize you,” said Mara. “Reject the evil of your past. If you do that, it will force you to face the dark elven half of your soul within the depths of your mind. If you can do that and prevail, you can be free. Truly free.”
“No,” said the urdhracos. She shuddered again, grimaced, and grasped her side. “Just kill me and free me.”
“You wish you had killed the Traveler yourself,” I said.
The urdhracos stared at me, her mouth working in silence.
“You’re a warrior,” I said. “You always have been, and you hated the Traveler more than anything else in the world. You would have given anything to fight him, to kill him. Mara did that for you.” Qhazulak, Camorak, and the Anathgrimm warriors approached, stopping a dozen yards away. “But you can still fight him. He made you into an urdhracos. You can fight and conquer the part of him that’s still inside your head. If you want, I’ll kill you now. Or would you rather go down fighting, as a warrior should?”
She stared at me and bared her teeth in a snarl. A shudder went through her. Her face was still filled with rage, but it wasn’t directed at any of us.
It was aimed at her father.
“Do it,” she rasped.
“Caius,” said Mara.
Caius hurried forward and asked if she rejected the Adversary and all his works of evil and if she would accept baptism of her own will. The urdhracos snarled out a yes. She could have ripped out his throat with a single twitch of her talons, but Caius showed no fear as he stooped, cupped water in his hands, and poured it out over her head in the name of God.
I don’t know why it worked the way it did.
Maybe it was the mercy of God. Maybe by accepting baptism and the grace of the Dominus Christus and renouncing evil and all its works, she rejected the part of herself the Traveler had corrupted. And with the Traveler dead, that would force her to confront the dark elven half of her soul once more, just as Mara had during her transformation at the Iron Tower.
Caius stepped back as he finished, and for a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the urdhracos started to shudder, her eyes closed. She began to breathe faster and faster. Her jaw had been clenched shut, but now she let out a long groan. Blue fire glowed beneath the skin of her face and eyelids.
“It’s working,” said Mara. “She’s either going to face herself, or she’s going to die…”
“Get back,” I said. I remembered how Mara had burned with blue fire at the Iron Tower. “Get back, all of you, get back!”
We backed away as the blue fire brightened in her face and eyes, as the glow began to leak from between the armor plates covering her body. Shadows swirled and writhed around her hands and arms, and the urdhracos staggered to her feet, her face a rictus of agony. She stumbled a step to the side, her chest heaving with the ragged draw of her breath.
Then she threw back her head and screamed, and the blue fire and shadow exploded from her, billowing out a dozen paces in all directions.
The grass around her caught fire and burned, and the water of the creek seethed and boiled. Through the howl of the flames, I heard the urdhracos screaming through teeth clenched with agony. Women in childbirth scream that way. Or a man with a spear through his guts. People scream like that when there is nothing left for them but pain.
On and on it went. Through the fire, I saw her standing rigid and transfixed…and the black armor started to burn away. Her wings turned to ash and blew away in the inferno, and the blue fire grew brighter while the shadows dimmed and withered away.
Yes. That armor urdhracosi wear? It’s grafted to their skin.
The fire blazed like a comet, and her final scream rang out.
Then the blue fire vanished.
Silence fell, and I hurried forward, Mara at my side. The fire had turned the grass to ashes, and smoke rose from the ground. Steam hissed as the creek bubbled, cooling now that the fire had passed.
In the midst of the ashes was a naked woman on her hands and knees, her sides heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She looked up as we approached, and the face of the urdhracos stared at me.
Yet it wasn’t.
It was the same face, but the madness had passed, and now she looked only exhausted and confused. Her eyes were still black, but they were a normal human black, not the hellish black void that filled the eyes of the dark elves. Like Mara, her ears came to elven points, and her black hair was a sweaty tangle against her neck and upper back.
“That,” I heard Camorak say, “is just about the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen while sober.”
“I…I…I…saw myself,” whispered the woman, gazing up at Mara. “I fought myself. Just like you said. I thought…I thought I had to kill that part of myself. But I understand now. There were never two halves to my soul. Just one. And I could choose what it became.”
“Yes,” said Mara. “I understood, too.”
She held out her hand, and together Mara and I pulled the woman to her feet. The woman caught her balance and looked around in bewilderment as if seeing the world for the first time. Or as if she had not seen it with her own eyes in a very long
time.
“The song,” she said. “There is a new song. Not the Traveler’s, but…”
“Your own,” said Mara. “The song was the Traveler’s aura. But he’s dead now, and you’re free.”
“Sister,” said the woman. “Thank you.” The black eyes turned to me. “Thank you. You should have killed me, but you did not.”
I inclined my head.
Mara smiled. “That’s how he and I met, actually. He should have killed me, but he did not…”
“And the world changed,” I said. I looked at the Anathgrimm. “Does one of you have a cloak?”
Qhazulak approached Mara, bowed, and handed over his own cloak. I took it and swirled around the woman’s shoulders, and she clutched it closed gratefully.
“Thank you,” she said. “I…do not know what to do now.”
“We’ll figure something out,” said Mara. “What’s your name?”
The woman blinked. “I…do not know. I have been an urdhracos for so long that I cannot remember. I forgot it long ago.” She shrugged. “I suppose I shall have to choose another one.”
“It is common to take a baptismal name,” said Caius. “Perhaps you could do that.”
“Perhaps,” said the woman. “Or perhaps I had a different name for each life.”
“Each life?” I said.
“My first life was when I was a child,” said the woman. “The second was when I was an urdhracos. And now…”
She fell silent, and then she smiled for the first time.
“Third,” she said.
I frowned. “Third of what?”
“That will be my name,” said the woman. “Third.”
Chapter 6: Change The World
Ridmark fell silent and glanced back at the others.
They had drawn closer to hear the story. Kalussa was looking at Third with open sympathy in her eyes. Kyralion gazed at her with an intense expression. Third remained calm as ever.
“A harrowing tale,” said Krastikon, offering a bow. “I am sorry for doubting you.”
Third shrugged. “Life is suffering, Prince Krastikon. Your own father was no less malevolent than my own.”
Krastikon snorted. “He might have made me into an Ironcoat and Sir Tamlin into a gladiator, but he didn’t turn us into urdhracosi.”
“You can guess the rest, no doubt,” said Ridmark. “Third gained the power to travel from her transformation, and she had centuries of experience in battle. We needed her help badly, and she started accompanying me on our raids against the Frostborn. I think the Anathgrimm were frightened of her at first, but after the first few times her scouting abilities meant the difference between victory and defeat, they decided she was indeed the sister of their Queen and defended her with the same reverence.”
“And you were right,” said Calliande, smiling at him.
“Eh?” said Ridmark.
“You did change the world that day,” said Calliande.
“Perhaps,” said Ridmark, looking at Third. “But I had help.”
Because if not for Third, Ridmark would have died so many times. In the Labyrinth near Bastoth, or fighting the Sculptor’s creatures, or during the siege of Tarlion. If not for her, he would never have lived long enough to marry Calliande, and his sons would not have been born.
And to his surprise, Third smiled. She didn’t do that all that often.
“The story is not finished,” said Third. “I think there is one more thing to tell. Namely, the reason I came to Owyllain. I will tell it myself.”
Chapter 7: Mission
My father left many armories scattered throughout Nightmane Forest, and I equipped myself from one of them.
I found a suit of dark elven scout armor and adapted it to fit me, and found it suitable for my needs. I also located a pair of dark elven short swords and decided to use them as my primary weapons. Between my previous longsword and my talons, I was used to fighting with two weapons at once, and I have carried those short swords ever since.
After that, Mara wanted to see me.
“How are you feeling?” she said.
“I am well,” I answered. That was true, but I think my sister wanted me to say more, so I did. “In truth, I am better than I have been for centuries.”
Mara nodded. “Then you are feeling well enough to accompany Ridmark when he takes a warband across the Moradel?”
“I am,” I said. I was looking forward to it. Idleness does not suit me, and I say without false modesty that I am very good at fighting.
“I would like to ask you a favor,” said Mara.
“Of course,” I said.
“I owe Ridmark my life,” said Mara.
“As do I,” I said.
“And not once, but several times over,” said Mara. “When I met him for the first time, I had almost lost control of the dark elven power in my blood. I was but a few days away from transforming into an urdhracos. I begged him to kill me. I told him it would be a mercy. His companions agreed with me, reluctantly. But he refused. He refused past the point of reason…and because of that, the Traveler is dead, and you and I are free of our father forever.”
I nodded. “I begged Lord Ridmark to kill me, too. In hindsight, I am pleased that he did not.”
Mara smiled as if I had made a joke. People seem to think I make jokes more often than I do. “He saved our lives, but I don’t think he cares a great deal about his own.”
“I have observed that,” I said. “He carries a great deal of anger and seems reckless with his own life.”
“When the Frostborn invaded,” said Mara, “someone he cared about was murdered. He doesn’t blame himself, not this time. He wants revenge on the people who killed her, and he doesn’t care what happens to him in the pursuit of it.”
“I do not think his hatred threatens his reason,” I said.
“Nor do I,” said Mara. “But someday he might get angry enough to take a foolish risk and get himself killed. Would you look after him for me? I would do it myself, but the Anathgrimm will not let me take the field with them.”
“Yes,” I said. “I shall.”
And I have followed that command ever since.
Chapter 8: Onward
Later that night, Ridmark took the first watch as the others slept around the campfire.
He gazed into the gloom of the moors, the landscape illuminated by five of the thirteen moons. Nothing moved on the plains. With the death of Taerdyn and the destruction of the Bronze Dead, Ridmark supposed the plains near Trojas were currently some of the safest places in Owyllain.
Not that anywhere within Owyllain was really safe.
A boot rasped against the ground behind him, and Ridmark glanced over his shoulder and Third walked up to join him.
“Can’t sleep?” said Ridmark.
“Not presently,” said Third, her voice calm. “I fear our talk brought many memories to the forefront of my mind.”
“Unpleasant ones,” said Ridmark with a frown.
She looked at him. “Not all of them. But we all have unpleasant memories.”
“Aye, that’s God’s own truth,” said Ridmark. He let out a breath. “I suppose this will all be a memory one day.”
“What do you mean?” said Third.
“Assuming we don’t all get killed in the next few weeks,” said Ridmark, “you’ll probably live for centuries yet. Maybe even longer than you’ve already lived. You might get to meet the grandchildren of my grandchildren. In another thousand years, this will all be just another memory.”
“Perhaps,” said Third, her voice soft. “But some memories are more important than others. And no matter how long I live, I will always remember when my sister and Ridmark Arban showed me the way to freedom.”
They kept watch together in companionable silence.
THE END
Thank you for reading SHIELD KNIGHT: RIDMARK'S TALE.
The adventures of Ridmark, Calliande, and Third continue in SEVENFOLD SWORD: SHADOW.
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Other books by the author
The Demonsouled Saga
MAZAEL CRAVENLOCK is a wandering knight, fearless in battle and masterful with a sword.
Yet he has a dark secret. He is Demonsouled, the son of the ancient and cruel Old Demon, and his tainted blood grants him superhuman strength and speed. Yet with the power comes terrible, inhuman rage, and Mazael must struggle to keep the fury from devouring him.
But he dare not turn aside from the strength of his blood, for he will need it to face terrible foes.
The priests of the San-keth plot and scheme in the shadows, pulling lords and kingdoms upon their strings. The serpent priests desire to overthrow the realms of men and enslave humanity. Unless Mazael stops them, they shall force all nations to bow before the serpent god.
The Malrag hordes are coming, vast armies of terrible, inhuman beasts, filled with a lust for cruelty and torment. The Malrags care nothing for conquest or treasure, only slaughter. And the human realms are ripe for the harvest. Only a warrior of Mazael’s power can hope to defeat them.
The Dominiar Order and the Justiciar Order were once noble and respected, dedicated to fighting the powers of dark magic. Now they are corrupt and cynical, and scheme only for power and glory. They will kill anyone who stands in their way.
To defeat these foes, Mazael will need all the strength of his Demonsouled blood.
Yet he faces a far more terrible foe.
For centuries the Old Demon has manipulated kings and lords. Now he shall seize the power of the Demonsouled for himself, and become the a god of torment and tyranny.
Shield Knight Ridmark's Tale Page 3
