by Swanson, Jay
“Go on with yer people.” For all of the pain and weakness, Cid felt unbelievably sharp. “They've got a long ways to go yet.”
“They won't go anywhere if they aren't given the proper opportunity.”
Cid looked over at the man and was startled to find the irises of his eyes glowing red. A mark of the enemy. “Who are you?”
“In the Truan tongue, my name is the same as your word for thundercloud. The kings of the west knew me as Hevetican. I was chief magician and counselor to the kings of Trua. The last of my office.” He looked at Cid with his burning eyes, all humor drained from his dark face. “I was once the sworn enemy of the corrupt west, but now I see the true enemy for who he is. I will fight alongside you, Cleaver. And together we shall stand, or together we shall fall.”
Whether or not he should trust the man was a question that only flitted past Cid's mind for a moment. Every instinct he had said to kill him on the spot; but Hevetican had healed him, and brought him this far alive. Now he was offering to stand and fight an impossible battle at his side. He had little choice in reality but to trust the Truan.
The Granhal were howling now, overpowering the screams of their victims with their cries of hate and pleasure. It was built into them to destroy, written on their very bones to slaughter the weak. In moments like this their rancid joy was complete.
“Stay here.” Hevetican began to walk forward as his ashen staff slowly turned black in his hand. “They will ignore me so long as I call on the power of their master. When I turn it against them, come to my aid.”
There were hundreds of them, Cid realized. Literally hundreds. Perhaps more. It was impossible to tell as they came bounding towards him. They were only hundreds of yards away now.
“If you can call upon your magic,” Hevetican shouted over his shoulder. “That would serve as a wonderful distraction.”
He didn't need to ask twice. Cid was already feeling the urge to put on the protection of the Magi, to use the tricks they had taught him long ago to guard and empower himself. He uttered the words, making the motions in the air he had been taught would manipulate the atmosphere. First his shield. A purple glow emanated in front of him and then washed over his armor, binding to the inlaid enchantments and coating it in a shimmering light that was almost invisible to the naked eye.
Instantly, every Granhal in the front line turned their attention towards him. He could sense it, but even more he could see it in their stances. Their trajectories changed, their focus was set. I need my second sword. He made more movements with his fingers, the words rushing out of him as his need grew in urgency. He held up the Cleaver to the sun. It flashed blue. As he swung it to the side, an ethereal blade trailed in its wake.
The Granhal were closing in now. The first row was approaching Hevetican and beginning to pass him. They were indeed ignoring the old man, who turned to watch them go with his blazing-red eyes.
Cid the Cleaver uttered one final incantation, drawing extra strength into his body as a flash of green swirled around his legs and up to his head. The rush that came with it was exhilarating. The Granhal screamed their bloodlust in unison. Cid grinned at his death. In that moment, Hevetican swung his staff, sending a shockwave across the backs of the advancing Granhal and knocking a number off their feet. The rest regained their balance and turned, surprised at the sudden attack.
Cid launched himself forward then, his blood churning. All of the rage and fear and hatred came spilling out of him then, pushing him beyond what his weakened body clamored was possible. Hevetican unleashed fire from his staff, blasting it at the nearest Granhal and then turning it on the next. It was Cid's turn to take advantage of a distraction, and he did it with poise.
The nearest Granhal picked itself up and turned. Before it could leap away, Cid was spinning the Cleaver and brought it down at speed. The blade struck the Granhal in the crux of its neck, nearly severing its head and right shoulder from its body. The blue blade of mist that followed finished the job.
Black blood spattered Cid's armor and disappeared in small purple flashes of smoke as the enchantment went to work. He didn't have time to appreciate it; he had to take it for granted now. He had to put his trust firmly in the magic of his old friends if he was to focus on the task at hand.
The Granhal were closing in on Hevetican, swinging their axes and launching themselves at him to knock him to the ground. The old Truan was faster and had turned into a brown whir, spinning and striking with his staff before dodging and striking again. Fire shot out in spurts, but nothing quite so powerful as his initial blast.
Cid ran to join him, but his magic drew the hunger of the Granhal. They were already peeling away to come after him. The first bounded straight for him, its notched ax as big as its torso. The demon-skull face let out a dark howl as it jumped, aiming to land directly on top of Cid with its thick boots. He rolled, letting it land just behind him before he came up spinning. His timing was perfect, the blade connecting before the Granhal had time to correct its attack.
It let out a scream, but was silenced when he spun again, bringing the Cleaver around the other direction and lopping off its head. Cid ducked, half out of instinct, dodging a spiked mace as it flew through the space his head had occupied. He was faster, stronger, and better able to fight with these enchantments than he had been in a long time. He brought the Cleaver around his left side, planted his right foot, and shoved the blade back with all of his strength as he turned to face his enemy. The blade bit, splitting the thick armor-like skin of the Granhal and plunging deep into its chest.
He didn't wait a moment as he hauled up on the blade, its blue counterpart appearing to cut the way free through the monster's mask. Cid rolled under another attack, working to close the gap between himself and Hevetican. The Truan seemed to be holding his own, but he was losing ground steadily and didn't seem to be doing much more than keeping the Granhal at bay.
Cid jumped as high as he could, the enchantments infusing him with a strength not his own. He brought his sword over his head and slammed it down into another Granhal, cleaving its right side down to the midsection before his blue blade struck it from the other side and sent it to the ground.
He spun in a circle, letting the blade sing as it slit the air and cleared space around him. There are too many. The second line was approaching and enveloping the carnage unfolding around him. They were doomed.
Cid craned his neck to try and see the draw. The majority of the refugees had made it up and around the corner, but a number of Granhal were already bounding after them. God, no.
He ducked to avoid an ax as it whizzed past him, then was caught in the shoulder by a second. He flew to the side, his arm numb from the impact. The shield had done its work to absorb most of the blow. He hadn't been cut, but he wasn't sure how many hits like that he could take.
Hevetican blasted a Granhal with a burst of flame, leaping past it to join Cid as he picked himself up. The Granhal around Cid weren't waiting for him to rise, however. A heavy boot caught him in the back, the ax that followed barely missing him by a hand's breadth. Cid used the momentum of the kick to roll up to his feet, swinging the sword low as he came up. The Cleaver bit, catching a monster just below the knee and lodging itself there.
Cid twisted hard, yanking on the sword to free it as an inbound mace connected with his side. One of the spikes caught him, breaking through the enchantment and tearing at his armor. The impact spun him, and suddenly he was diving for cover from more strikes. He was losing, and fast.
The wounded Granhal came forward then, aiming its ax to take his head, but the wound in its leg gave way and it lost its balance. Cid took the opportunity, swinging his sword up to catch it in the side as he threw himself out of its way. Dark blood shot out with the arc of the blade as Cid twisted in the air, catching himself and rolling forward in the same motion. He was tiring quickly now, he could feel it.
He brought the Cleaver around, but before he had fully gained his feet, he was kicked hard
in the stomach. He doubled over from the force of the blow and soon found himself on his face, world twirling and ears ringing. Dark feet appeared in his vision, bracing themselves to strike. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, they were carried away. He looked up to see Hevetican reaching down for his hand.
“Get up!” But the Truan had time to say little else as an ax caught him in the side and cast him to the ground with a sickening thud.
Cid shook his head and tried to leap to his feet, but the motion was far too slow. He wobbled a bit as searing pain shot down his back. He had been hit. The realization seemed stupid in retrospect, but there it was. He brought the Cleaver up in time to catch the same ax that had struck his companion. The Granhal held it with two hands and pressed into him with the weapon. Cid gave way, letting his sword grate off the brittle metal of the ax and spun the other direction, bringing the Cleaver up to kill the beast.
The Granhal was faster, twisting in place to catch the strike. It regained its balance with snake-like speed, then struck him in the chest with its foot. He landed next to Hevetican, who was attempting to rise to his feet.
“Right sorry excuse for warriors, we are,” Cid coughed as he worked to get up.
The frenzy came to a standstill as the Granhal walked forward in confidence. Only a few of their brothers had taken to the hills to hunt their prey. The rest were drawn to Cid's magic and gathered around until the entire area was covered in putrid, black, skin-covered armor. Blood Cid could only assume belonged to the refugees was spattered on every one of the monsters, dripping off of their weapons and from their teeth. They growled and made coughing noises that Cid took for laughter.
He knelt, not wanting to bring them on too quickly. That's right you filthy bastards, I'm weak. I'm easy. You come nice 'n slow, now.
The circle stopped mere yards from the two wounded warriors. Cid was far more wobbly on his foot and knee than he liked. His breath came up short, his vision blurred to the point that the Granhal looked like little more than black blurs with horns.
One of the nightmares stepped forward and lifted his head to howl, then was joined by the rest in the most gut-wrenching death rattle Cid could have imagined for himself. No better way to go, I 'spose.
He mustered what strength he had left as the howling died down. The leader of the pack brought its head back down until it stared straight at him, and in that moment Cid launched himself into the air.
TEN
ARDIN'S CONFUSION OVER WHAT HAD HAPPENED IN THE SPAN OF THE LAST FEW HOURS WAS COMPLETE. His mind whirled as rapidly as the air that churned around him now. Tristram said little as they soared over Grandia faster than Ardin had ever thought possible. The lush green hills of the west were quickly lost to the gray wastes that the Demon's forces had left behind. He hadn't even escaped yet, and this was how powerful his influence was.
Now he was free, and Ardin had failed to do anything to stop him. Even slowing down the escape had proved too difficult for him, his new powers proving treacherous to his very stability. Now there was no time and no ability to stay and do anything about it. He had asked Tristram early on where they were headed, assuming they would go to Islenda. But no, Tristram had said, there were other more pressing matters to attend to. Islenda would see to her own problems.
And so they flew. The ethereal warrior maintained his silence as he clutched onto the back of Ardin's armor, suspending him with the Atmosphere as much as with his hands. Ardin could sense it. Tristram was bursting with raw power, like lungs overfilled felt on the verge of exploding, and yet he remained in control of himself. It gave Ardin a brief moment of shame to know that he had barely handled his own power.
Ardin. The thought came unbidden. Ardin, can you hear me?
It was no thought, he realized, but a voice. He closed his eyes, his consciousness slipping into the Magaic plane without any effort. To his shock, he found himself on the bridge to the Tomb of the Relequim. The nameless mountain stood unharmed, the Dragon's Teeth glittering in the distant sunlight.
“Who's here?” It was like he was physically on the bridge again, speaking aloud.
“Ardin.”
He turned to look towards the Mouth, the entrance to the bridge.
“Alisia!” He ran.
He couldn't help but dash towards her and throw his arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground and spinning her in the air. She laughed in his ear, the sound sending electric shivers rippling through him.
“I can't believe it's you!” He laughed in turn as he put her down on the smooth granite. “Oh my God, I can't believe you're here!”
She laughed lightly and tossed her auburn hair out of her face. “It shouldn't come as such a shock. I miss you.”
Her eyes were as deep as he remembered, her skin as smooth. He reached out to brush her cheek with the back of his fingers, disbelieving the sensation even as he felt her face turn to another smile. He kept his other hand on the small of her back, refusing to let her go for even the pulse of a heartbeat.
“Was that you, warning me earlier?” His smile faded as he remembered what had happened here. “I heard your voice. It was so... confusing.”
Alisia's eyes were misting, he realized. “No, Ardin. It was my voice, but not my words.”
“I fought him, Alisia. For a moment... I know I came into contact with him...”
“I was trying to encourage you, Ardin. You could have done what you intended.”
“Then why did you tell me to run?” He wiped her cheek with his thumb. “What's wrong?”
“When you were in there, I was trying to reach you. I've been staying close this whole time, Ardin. I swear. But... when you were in the Cathedral, he forced me out. I could feel him step between us, taking my voice and twisting it to his own words.”
“He can do that?” Ardin's stomach dropped to hear it.
“It's my own fault, Ardin. I should have warned you. I should have warned you about the need to set up your own defenses here.”
“You did warn me.” He hugged her close, as much to remind himself she was really here as to comfort her. “I didn't listen. I didn't even know I could come here so easily. Until the Shadow King brought me here, I had practically forgotten about it.”
“You need to build them now, Ardin. Erase this place, and build a fortress that only you know.”
“Can't you build it with me?” He held her out so he could see her face, study the lines of her neck and the way her hair fell over her shoulders. The beauty of her still had the power to make him ache. “Let's do this together.”
He swept his hands across the landscape, the mountains and bridge disappearing as a mist before the wind. He heard her gasp as they went, and smiled.
“Ardin...”
“The slate is clean.” He looked back at her and smiled. “Let's build something wondrous.”
“You need to build your walls first, Ardin. And those I cannot know.”
“But... I don't understand.” He frowned. “You're welcome in this place any time. Now that I know how easy it is to come here, I want to spend every spare minute I can with you.”
“Ardin.” She glanced down between them. “I don't want to know how to come to you unbidden.”
“Why?”
“If the Relequim can take my voice from me... if he can use that against you, then I don't want to run the risk of him taking anything else from me.”
“He couldn't do that.” Ardin could feel his heart begin to beat harder at the thought. “Could he?”
“I didn't know he could do what he did today, Ardin. He's stronger than I imagined... stronger even than the others warned me.”
“Others? What others?”
“My parents, Caspian. They warned me that he might try to intercept me, but they only said he could keep me at bay. They never said he would be able to emulate me to you.”
“Caspian?” The thought of the old Mage made Ardin smile in spite of himself. “You've seen him?”
Alisia let herself laug
h at that. “Yes, everyone is there. We're all waiting for you, Ardin; it's a beautiful place. Made just for the Magi.”
Ardin's smile slowly melted from him as he felt the distance grow between them.
“What is it?”
“I'm not a Mage, Alisia.”
“You were meant to be with me, Ardin.” It was her turn to touch his face, her hand just large enough to cover his cheek. “I know as much. There is a place for you here.”
“But what about my family? Will I ever see them again?”
“Ardin...”
The thought of never being reunited with his family struck from his mind straight to his heart, nearly causing him to topple over. It had never truly occurred to him that he might, but now, being offered a new life, he feared for that of his family.
“They are where they were always meant to go.” She smiled sadly, though he hardly found it reassuring.
“Where I was meant to go...”
“You will have a choice, I'm sure...” He was hurting her; he could tell. “You should do what's best in the end, of course.”
“But... I really have to make that choice?”
“I don't think you can have both, Ardin.”
He raised his eyes again to look at her. She was pleading without any words, he knew that, and in a way he appreciated that she wouldn't press him. But in some small way he wished she would. Instead he simply stroked her hair, feeling the long auburn locks flow between his fingers before he held her close to him again.
“You know that place in the mountains, Tertian's little castle overlooking the sea?”
“Yeah...”
He could feel her smile softly against his neck. “I still hope to meet you there someday... in my own way. That's where I'll always know to look for you.”
He didn't know what to say. Could she meet him there somehow? The thought made his broken hopes mend, though he knew it was in vain, even if only for a moment.
“You need to build your defenses here, Ardin.” The sadness in her voice made his throat twist. “You don't have much time. Build them well, so that no one could ever find their way in.”
