And the demon returned…
14
Her Pain and His Price
The citadel doors swung inwards, breaking free from their hinges as the powerful arms of the demon shoved them aside, and the soldiers of Dunnor were thrown back from where they had stood against him. Dunnor himself fell dead, slain by the merciless claw of the terrible demon where he stood to oppose it, and Gorroth did not hesitate to storm the keep.
The guards who rushed upon him were easily thrown down with the others and their broken weapons, and neither did Gefiny hesitate to charge the monster before it could come upon the two thrones of the leading aristocracy.
Some seven or so guards could still fight the demon with spears and swords, jumping into action to plunge their weapons into Gorroth’s being. But the demon only roared and threw them aside, shoving down any who came between him and Gefiny with his clawed hands, and it became clear that no weapon of their crafting could penetrate the immortality of this monster.
That thought did not stop those who had strength and life enough to stand between it and their matron, fighting to their death before its feet. But Gefiny readied herself for a different angle of attack, and signaling to the mages across the chamber in the Circle of Power she cried out for them to attack.
The blasts of fire took the demon in the side of its face and legs, and falling onto the floor the three remaining guards stuck their spears through its hide. Gorroth swept the feet from them, though, and beat them with fury as he smacked one across the chamber, slashed at another’s throat with his angular claws, and caught the spear of the last under an arm. He threw the citadel guard into the two thrones, and their sentry was broken and died.
Gefiny, seeing the demon turn his back upon her, rushed forward with Dril’ead’s scimitar and plunged it through its back. The adamant steel of the blade came forth from his chest as the sword tore through him, and Gorroth shrieked in horrified pain as he looked down on his blood shining on the blade protruding from his chest. Even this severe of a blow couldn’t destroy the demon, she knew. And so unsheathing her dagger she held it high above either of their heads, crying out a command similar to the one she had used before.
Instead of flames erupting into Gorroth’s body, the blade exploded as she drove it down into the wide open maw of the wolfish demon, and the throne room of Vulzdagg was consumed in a fiery outburst of destruction.
*****
Dril’ead stopped when he saw the smashed gates of his city, the fortifications his grandfather had worked so hard to build for the defense of his people lying in a bent heap upon the ground, and the tears broke out to stream down his pale cheeks. Beside the gate, with broken weapons lying about them, were fighters who had died to hold back whatever thing had come upon them; slash marks across their breastplates and faces.
He pressed onward, sobbing as he passed corpses of torn children, youthful warriors, and kind mothers. He did not stop, did not bother to check if any of them were alive, nor did he dare hope that somewhere someone had lived through it. The cuts, the slashes and torn flesh, it all told Dril’ead what had done this awful thing to him.
Gorroth!
He went on to the steps of the citadel, forcing himself against looking back at the corpses behind him, and strode quickly up the steps toward the doors of the keep. However, he stopped when coming upon Razarr’s body in the arms of Naomi; the chief commander hugging the corpse to her face as she cried into it, and was startled to find someone living among all the hundreds of dead.
Dril stammered, his eyes widely shifting between Naomi and Razarr. “What… What has happened? Where – where is… Who is alive? Please, please tell me I am a fool!”
Naomi shook her head and slowly looked up at him, her swollen eyes pleading him for comfort. “I cannot… I do not know who is alive, but all my friends are dead.”
Dril’ead fell onto his knees beside her, his body quivering with grief as he recognized the horror and painful shame in her face, and slowly he reached out and touched her shoulder. “Not all,” he said to her. “I’m still with you. I’m still standing. I will help you, so do not despair for fear of loneliness. I will never leave you again.”
“But lady Gefiny, your sister,” Naomi whispered, turning to look at Razarr in her lap. “He said it was coming for her, and I told commander Dunnor to guard the citadel doors against it, because it came for her… The demon, the terrible monster! How could one creature get by all the hundreds of soldiers who stood against it? How can we stand our ground when all our friends die around us? How can we live knowing and remembering we didn’t fight when our friends died fighting? Oh great glories above, how can we?”
Dril slowly turned from her, his mind chasing the dreadful truth of the fear that overcame him, and standing numbly he walked into the ruined chamber of the citadel. Chunks of the ceiling had fallen from their place to leave gaps where he could see through into the room above, and fragments of the walls were torn loose, all in pieces on the ground.
Bodies, the corpses of the citadel guards and numerous soldiers, lay strewn about, slain by the claws of Gorroth. However, none of the bodies caught his attention, save one lying at the doors of the Circle of Power – dead mages lying in smoking heaps beyond those doors – and Dril’ead quickened his steps to come to the side of what had been his sister.
He lifted Gefiny into his arms, her scorched clothes clinging to her in nothing more than rags and ruined armor, and looked into her blistered face with a false hope that perhaps she had lived. It took a moment, a dreadful moment, for Dril’ead to realize Gefiny could not survive such a fate as this, and he tightened his hold on her as he struggled to organize his emotions.
It was then that she opened her eyes and looked up at him, weak and broken. “Dril’ead,” she said in whisper hardly audible, and lifted an arm to touch his face with a reddened hand. “Dear brother, Dril’ead, you came back.”
“I keep my promises,” Dril replied remorsefully, tears filling his eyes before streaming down his face as be blinked them clear. “Father, I’m afraid, didn’t make such a promise.”
“I go to him, then,” said Gefiny. “I go to our father, and you go to our brother, in whose company we shall have fulfilled our desires.”
She looked at him earnestly, the energy of her remaining life slowly shrinking away with each laborious breath she took to speak. “Dril’ead, you must find him, and you must protect him as you would protect me.”
“I can still protect you,” Dril’ead said, lifting an arm to wipe the tears from his face, “I can save you, Gefiny!”
Her hand grasped his arm, and the strength behind her hold surprised him. “Save our people, I’m sorry I could not have… Find Neth’tek, and save him as you would have saved me… I go to join our father… My time, it is spent.”
“But you cannot leave me!” cried the hopeless Dril’ead, grasping her tightly as if it could keep her in his world. “You cannot, Gefiny! Please.”
Gefiny smiled up at him. “I won’t.”
Those words, and the smile she kept upon her last expression, used the last of her energy and strength to live; and so Gefiny Vulzdagg passed on into the world beyond, leaving her broken body in the arms of Dril’ead Vulzdagg, though she ever stayed nearby to guide him as Vaknorbond had. And Dril’ead, taking her hand to hold it near his face, watched and waited for the last of her laborious breaths to cease.
He cried hard at her passing.
He would have screamed, beat his fists against the walls in outrage at his inability to save her, had the spirit of the warrior remained within him at the moment. It had left, leaving him to quietly mourn over the body of his beloved sister, though from outside the citadel Naomi could hear the distant sound of someone weeping.
There he remained until all his tears were spent, bending over the body of his sister in lamentation for her. And then, when weariness and sorrow overtook him he laid himself down beside her and shut his eyes as if to sleep.
15
A Farewell to Remember
It had come at last, after so many years of fighting and surviving just to stay alive, it had come. Gregarr had few friends, most of them having perished in the numerous passages the patrols of Grundagg surveyed on countless runs; though one of them, a common soldier by the name of Razbaar, had become a close companion to the commander. Razbaar was beside Gregarr during the time Vulzdagg was under an unbelievable siege, and so he was among those Grundagg soldiers who delivered the citizens of Vulzdagg from the claws of the monsters that besieged them.
Gregarr told Razbaar how, if he could make the decision, he would have been promoted to the station of captain long ago; and if not captain, than Gregarr would have made Razbaar a commanding officer beside him, though their lord and lady would not be convinced of his prowess.
“There is no need to brag about me before our lord and lady,” Razbaar said to him, “I am content with where I am. In fact, I would not wish to be promoted from a common soldier. The lesser responsibility the more rest I get.”
“It makes me jealous,” Gregarr replied to the soldier, smiling at his humor. “I believe that such a strategic mind as yours should be put to good use out there. One day our lord and lady will see, and then they shall appear as the fools!”
He had slapped Razbaar on the arm playfully, passing the fighter by as he made his way toward his own private quarters in the city, and it was that slap that awoke Razbaar back into the present happenings. He stood where he had been standing, looking down at the body of a comrade, and frowning in deep thought as he wondered why his other comrades had been ordered to slay the fighter. Something strange was happening, mere moments before all the captains and commanders had been summoned into the throne room of their lord and lady, Gregarr going with them.
Razbaar began to recall other memories of the noble commander, thoughts that brought him far into the distant things of their past, and he saw again the face of Gregarr; though back then he was only a captain. They stood over the body of a Zurdagg mage, just like Razbaar now stood over the body of a Grundagg, both with puzzled expressions. There had been many hundreds of Zurdagg wizards and warriors lying outside the walls of the Branch, and it appeared to have been a furious battle against some unknown foe.
“What do you suppose killed these Zurdagg’s?” Razbaar asked his captain curiously.
Gregarr was silent as he continued to look around the scene of destruction, the library of Zurdagg nothing more than a crumbled ruin of broken stones and ash, all glowing in the infrared spectrum. He rubbed his chin with a thumb and index finger, furrowing his brow in deep thought of the question.
“Well,” he began, “I cannot say.”
Razbaar frowned at that. He expected the deep thoughts of his captain to come out in more prophetic words. However, Gregarr had surprised his faithful soldier, and hid a smile as he saw Razbaar’s disappointment.
“What I mean is simple,” Gregarr continued, now clasping his hands behind his back as he turned about to examine the area. “I cannot say because I do not know. I was not here to witness it, and haven’t enough evidence to make any claims as to what has done this great thing. However, I can say that Zurdagg is no more.”
“Indeed it is,” Razbaar agreed, satisfied. “Though, it makes me feel quite uncomfortable standing among all this destruction without knowing what did it. I would like to know, and then perhaps the Branches of the Urden’Dagg Tree may put an end to it so we can continue living in our quiet and peaceful way.”
“Quiet and peaceful do not become of the Branches of the Urden’Dagg Tree,” Gregarr said to his companion. “We have ever been at war with the monsters of this dark world.” He paused contemplatively, a distant look coming over his features as he continued. “Have you heard the rumors of a time when we did not live in this world?”
Razbaar shrugged. “I know that there must have been some place we existed before coming into this world.”
“Yes, of course,” said Gregarr, “But that is not what I’m talking about . . . Have you heard mention of a place other than these deep caverns that we once lived?”
“I have not heard any mention of living somewhere else,” Razbaar answered. Looking up at his captain he asked, “Why do you ask?”
Gregarr shrugged in reply. “Just a thought,” he said. “I’ve heard such rumors whispered around the city, but never have I actually gone so far as to discover exactly what it is they mention. Though, I am very curious . . .”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Razbaar put in, and then he yawned. “Well, shall we return to the city and report?”
Sighing heartily, Gregarr waved him back toward the direction of their city. “Yes, indeed we should,” he said. “I wouldn’t go about searching the bodies for any valuables,” he added, “I doubt there is any to find now.”
Razbaar came back into his proper mindset then, hearing the groan of the citadel doors opening. The matron of Swildagg had come into their city moments before with her son, and at her command all the people in the streets bowed themselves before her and whatever name she uttered. Razbaar, though, had been too far away to hear what exactly she said, but he did bow himself down when all the others did. Now, however, they had been in the citadel for some extended moments.
Turning round he saw the doors opening wide, and out stepped the matron of Swildagg and the matron of Grundagg, two guards marching between them as they dragged someone out by the wrists.
Eldrean stepped forward and raised her arms to gather the attention of all the soldiers standing before her, and in a loud voice she said, “Behold, ye people of Grundagg, the retribution of the Shadow Queen against those who defy her!” and the guards threw down the person whom they had been dragging.
Razbaar pushed his way through the crowd of soldiers, desperately trying to see who they had captured. Elemni came forward and kicked the poor wretch in the side, growling a command for the prisoner to rise, and Razbaar’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized the face of the Grundagg.
Gregarr lifted himself onto his feet, but Elemni promptly struck him in the stomach and shoved him down onto his knees. “How dare you stand before the representatives of the Shadow Queen, you traitor!” he snarled at him.
“This creature,” Eldrean shouted to the host of Grundagg’s before her, pointing an accusing finger at Gregarr. “He has slain your dear lord in his own Circle of Power, and therefore has openly defied the authority of the Shadow Queen!”
She paused to raise her arms high above her head like before, but closing her eyes she spoke as if in prayer to whatever deity the Shadow Queen claimed to be, saying, “Dear queen, dear goddess of this world, here we have an offering for you! Take it, if you will, and be at ease with your vengeance! Accept, therefore, this treacherous villain who has defied you!”
Elemni pushed Gregarr’s head down, exposing the back of his neck as he unsheathed his sword, the sound of the steel sliding against steel turning Razbaar’s stomach. He knew what was about to happen.
Razbaar shoved someone aside, growling at whoever looked to stop him, and thought to save his commander before they could do anything awful to him. However, Gregarr lifted his eyes up at him, and Razbaar stopped suddenly as he read their pleading expression.
No, dear Razbaar, they seemed to say to him, they will only hurt you too...
Several hands pulled Razbaar back in place, and the three nobles standing round Gregarr turned their attention from him back to their captive. As Elemni raised his sword high above his head, tears began to stream down Razbaar’s cheeks as he continued to look into the eyes of his commander, his friend.
“Please,” Razbaar whispered in despair, directing his words to Gregarr, “you don’t have to do this.”
“I do die for the Urden’Dagg!” Gregarr cried aloud, and then the sword dropped upon his neck.
Razbaar shut his eyes, flinching, and began to weep openly. What else could he do?
Remember me!
Book Three
Rise of the Fallen
Dril’ead adjusted the purple spider-silk cloak over his new brown and green tunic, fitted comfortably over the mesh armor, beneath the light of a low burning candle. Examining himself in his father’s mirror, and thinking of all that had transpired in his father’s household, he felt deeply alone. The glyph on his brow was beginning to fade, soon he would be nothing. He had lost everything.
He closed his eyes.
Gefiny was dead, Razarr was dead, and Leona’burda was undoubtedly gone with them. It had been weeks since he heard from his father or brother, Vaknorbond having taken the youthful fighter to the courts of the all great and power Urden’Dagg. Dropping his arms to his sides he felt the cold steel of the scabbards of his scimitars, and then closed his eyes to take it all in.
His encounter with the demon Gorroth left him scarred and beaten. However, the prince of Vulzdagg recovered like none other, and he replaced his torn mesh armor with a new set in his fathers closet, found a pare of duel scimitar that fit his grasp and weight, and fitted himself in the garb of his people. He would meet the enemies of his father’s house and avenge his slain family, people, and those who would die upholding their positions.
He opened his eyes and looked directly into their reflection, the piercing gaze of a great warrior staring back at him from its glassy surface, and a single tear slid down his cheek. He would fight for his namesake, even if it destroyed all that was left of him.
Looking down he saw the ancient tome Vaknorbond always read during his private hours alone in this same chamber, and wondered what secrets of the Shadow Realms his father had found hidden in those thick pages. He sat down on the stone stool before the desk, and opened the book to the first page to begin reading the manuscript.
Passage to Glory: Part Two of the Redemption Cycle Page 15
