by Swanson, Jay
Ardin launched a bolt of his own lightning at the dragon, but it dropped low, letting the distant clouds above absorb the energy. It was moving faster than it had before; enraged or elated, Ardin couldn't tell, but it swooped down on him faster than he could react.
He put up his shield as the black flames laced in lightning struck him dead on. The dragon didn't continue past this time, however. It slowed, using its massive wings to pump the air back and hover just over him. The fire didn't stop coming.
He could feel his protection dissolving under the onslaught; it was like no energy he had ever tried to defend against, and even with his amazing new connection to the Atmosphere, he struggled to keep it at bay. His arms began to shake with the effort, and every attempt to bolster his defense left it temporarily weakened further. He was only losing ground now.
The dragon landed, the fire continuing to broil out of it behind every last ounce of its malice. The roar of it was deafening. The monster approached his shield, closing the distance until the fire was pouring down directly above him. He was losing his grip.
The dragon's claws appeared through the glowing darkness, penetrating the violent black and purple as easily as cool water. The talons on the claws weren't overly long, but they were thick. And strong, Ardin realized as they began to press in. He could feel them breaking through, the holes only growing with the monstrous pressure. Ardin breathed heavily, preparing to release his protection and make the jump when he heard a lout metallic whang.
The dragon stopped its fire long enough to look back over its shoulder as a thunderous clap resonated across the water.
Paul Donovan! The name jumped into Ardin's head with a flash of hope. Now if this guy stays distracted a second longer...
But the dragon whipped back around before he could move. Its anger was palpable as it put everything it had into Ardin's small invisible dome. He could visibly see the shield rippling in the air now as its last strength was put to the test, and then it failed.
The dragon's full weight came hurtling down at Ardin in the absence of the protective covering. Without thinking he made the jump, suddenly grateful for the wild discomfort it brought along with it. He floated off to the side until he felt the distance between himself and the dragon's power grow. He jumped back to the physical only to find it flying off towards the ships.
A flash appeared out on the water, followed by another, and then another at a different point farther south. The surprisingly satisfying sound of the shots rolled through seconds later. Ardin smiled to himself as two of the rounds hit the slow-flying dragon.
That'll teach you. But then Cid's story came back to him. The horror of the onyx dragons lay only partially in their black fire. Their greatest weapon was to multiply in battle.
The revelation of their peril came to Ardin too late as the dragon swooped down on one of the smaller ships off the coast. It looked like it was choking as it descended, its long neck convulsing like a cat forcing out a hairball. And then it coughed.
A giant glob of what looked like thick black tar wobbled in the air as if in suspension. The time it took to fall felt an eternity to Ardin. The glob struck dead on, landing on the bow of the small ship. Ardin couldn't see much more than that until it started to writhe with purple energy. There were men, trying to scrape at it with something, to push it off the ship, but their tools began to burn and suddenly they were dying too.
“No...” Ardin said as he watched helplessly. “This isn't possible.”
The steel ship was slowly consumed by the writhing energy until it had collapsed to half its size. Then, slowly, the center rose in a tall arc. The tar tore free as the arc straightened into a neck, the head of the monster screaming as it ripped itself free of its housing. The few ships nearby that had guns on them began to pour their rounds into the monster, no longer as concerned with the safety of the crew as they were with their own.
But every strike from the weapons only seemed to make the dragon stronger, make it move faster to free itself. Suddenly it was free, flapping its clumsy wings wildly until they caught purchase in the air and pulled it free from the wreckage.
Hevetican appeared at Ardin's elbow. “You have to kill them! Like you killed the other!”
Ardin thought back to the trap the dragon had laid for him, to how close he had come to dying already. He looked at Hevetican, trying to think of some excuse, to bring the old man's expectations back to reality, but the expression on his face stopped Ardin short. He was obviously aware of how impossible the task was, and he was beginning to despair.
“I can see it in you!” Hevetican pled. “You have become one. Finally, you have become one.”
The world twitched to Ardin, however. He had to fight to keep his body from doing the same. Not quite...
“I swore I'd never let anyone die under my watch again...” Ardin couldn't look away, not without placating Hevetican's fears. But that oath was impossible to keep; he had already failed in it even today. His force of strength from a moment before was leaving him, his body quivering and threatening worse. He grabbed his sword, drawing it as if it might steady his hand. There was no other reason to do so.
“I'll kill them, Hevetican.” He lowered his sword to his side as he took a deep breath. “I'll kill them.” But words, he knew, were not enough to do the job. And he wasn't certain his strength would be either.
SIXTEEN
ANDERS KEATON MOVED HIS MEN FROM THE CARNAGE TO THE CLOSEST STRIP OF SHADOW IN THE DARK WINTER NIGHT. He and the other two divers stripped off their wetsuits, their bodies steaming the instant they came into contact with the frigid air. He shuddered, the burns on his legs still tender to the temperature. They were in their leathers in minutes, though Keaton felt like he might as well still be naked for how cold he felt.
The screams from within the walls rose and died out in haunting bursts.
“This changes everything,” he said as he looked at men he hardly knew. “There were Woads down there, the monsters from Grandia that attacked us during the battle with Liscentia.”
“How'd they get in there, sir?”
“How'd they even get on our continent?” The news came as more of a shock than Keaton had assumed it would.
“I don't know, but they're here, and they're attacking Elandir.” He coughed against the chill. “We've crossed the line now. This coup can't be bloodless any longer. If we're going to do it, we have to go tonight. Can you get in touch with the others?”
“I've got flares.” One of the Hunters stepped forward. “We'd talked about using them if there was ever an emergency.”
“This qualifies.” Keaton coughed again. Nearly drowning was taking its toll. His throat burned every time he inhaled the cold now that he was out of his wetsuit. “Shoot one over the northern gate from here, then again once we reach it. We'll have to enter there.”
“They'll shoot us if they see us, sir.”
“They could see us now, if they were looking for us.” He gestured at the lit snow around them. “Things are too hot inside with the Woads. They won't even question us walking through the gate.” He twisted his neck against the rising discomfort. “Use the monsters as cover to get into the Northern Tower. We'll capture Merodach first, then we'll help clean up the mess.”
“What do we do about Rast?”
Keaton had forgotten about the Premier General. The man was a puppet, but he would have to be dealt with. “We'll have to capture him and establish new leadership over the military. The Council can take care of the city once Phelts is in control.”
“Merodach disbanded the Council, sir.”
“Then...” Keaton coughed into his fist. “Then we'll have to reinstate them.”
He started moving towards the northeast along the wall. On the would-be island between the Elandris and the loop, the only exit out of the city was the Northern Gate. They didn't bother with stealth any longer, running at a decent clip to cover the ground. Speed was more necessary to him than anything now. A fizzing thud behind
him turned into a green flash as a flare soared out ahead of them. He hoped the other two teams could see it against the bright lights on the walls.
And then the lights above them flickered. The sight made Keaton pick up the pace. They were running out of time. The lights flickered again, this time going dark for a few moments before coming back. He could see the base of the Northern Tower jutting out from the side of the wall. The gate would be just before it. A group of Hunters was gathered ahead on the road, firing into the darkness beyond where the lights on the walls were already out.
“Trouble ahead!” His voice cracked as he shouted. “At the ready!”
They fanned out behind him, pulling their rifles up as they slowed in their approach. The Hunters ahead stopped firing, half of them moving down to confirm their kills while the rest guarded the road. They saw Keaton's men and waved.
“What's going on?” Keaton tried to shout ahead as he began to jog again.
“Some sort of cats attacked us around the eastern side.” Their leader walked down to meet him on the gentle slope. “No idea what they are, but they're vicious little bastards.”
“They're inside as well,” Keaton said as he slowed to shake the man's hand. He recognized the Hunter to be the leader of the food disruption team.
“We saw. We were working on breaking the hinges to the Farmer's Gate when we saw them attack some folks. The lights went out on the entire eastern half of the wall, not a soul to be seen up top. Garrison must have their hands full on the ground, and I can see why. The furry bastards have pushed us back up to here.”
“How many have you seen?”
“Only a few at a time, but they push us back every time we run into them. We've only been losing ground, even if they haven't done any serious damage.”
“We're gonna have to clear them out of the city,” Keaton croaked. “We can't let them kill the citizens inside.”
Both teams began to gather around their leaders.
“Agreed. We were thinking the same thing when we saw your flare. You doing alright, sir? Your voice sounds terrible.”
“I'm fine.” Keaton rubbed his throat unconsciously. “I'm taking a team inside to get Merodach. You wait for the other team to join us. Seal the gate, then take them inside to secure the area around the Mayor's Tower. From there we need to connect with the militia Phelts was talking about, and we need to find Phelts. We'll have to move quickly if there's going to be any Elandir left to save.”
“Aye sir, that's the truth. These things will rip the civvies to pieces.”
“So we move everything up to tonight.” Keaton turned to address the whole group. “There's no time to do this right, so we have to do it dirty. We'll arrest Merodach and detain him somewhere safe. If Rast sticks his head out tonight, do the same to him, but the first priority we have after Merodach is to clear out the Woads.”
The men grunted in agreement.
“We won't be alone; whatever garrison Merodach left in place has to be fighting them now.” He looked around at the dozen soldiers he was about to lead as the rest of the lights above the city flickered and died. “And there's supposed to be some underground militia inside, but don't expect it to go well for us.” He looked at his men. “My team, on me.”
He waved the way through the gates, plunging into the darkness of the long black tunnel through the walls of Elandir. They came to the other side more quickly than Keaton expected, his mind racing through all of the options and choices he was about to be forced to make. Whether or not focusing on Merodach before rescuing the people of Elandir was the right priority only hinged on his sense of self-preservation.
They could potentially save more Elandrians if they attacked the Woads first, but there was no guarantee they could even flush the monsters out effectively. If they did so, they risked clearing the way for Merodach to regain control and capture them before they could arrest him. Taking Merodach first meant securing their own freedom, but at the cost of how many lives Keaton couldn't say. He just wanted to end the destructive reign of the pompous mayor and his puppet generals. Elandir had suffered plenty already, and there was no way to prevent what would happen tonight, but he could change how much they endured in the future. To do that he needed Merodach in a tiny cell or swinging from a rope.
He turned left from the gate, its base just west of the Northern Tower. The square was dark. Frantic gunshots resonated through the streets as the occasional scream rose and fell among the shadows of Elandir. The lights in the very center of town looked functional from the glow and the few high buildings he could see from here.
The entrance to the Northern Tower was more elaborate than any other, even than the military's entrance to the Southern Tower. The walls of the first two stories had been replaced with glass, much the same as Merodach's office at the top. The structure had been expanded out twenty yards, giving it the look of an elegantly curving atrium. They found one guard lying in front of the door, his uniform shredded and saturated by blood from his wounds. The other guard stationed at the entrance was nowhere to be seen.
They pushed through, moving smoothly but swiftly as they crossed the large lobby to the elevators in the back. The tower should have been under lockdown, but the whole place looked empty. The security desk stood unmanned, and the elevator responded normally when he pushed the button. Halfway through its descent, however, it ground to a halt and the lights behind the buttons dimmed.
“Emergency power's already dead,” said one of the men at hand.
“Well enough,” Keaton rasped. “Better it happens before we're on the damned thing. Take the stairs.”
It was a long climb to the top of the Northern Tower. Many of the security doors relied on electricity to keep the higher levels secured, but those with physical locks had been broken through already. Keaton pushed his men onward faster, fearing they were too late. The lights mounted on their guns only illuminated so much area around them, but the Hunters never stumbled in the dark. Necessity was sharpening their skills to match their inherited reputation.
Keaton took his position right behind the leader, listening for anything unusual as they made their ascent. The way up was lengthy, but Keaton needed the time to figure out what he would do with Merodach anyway. They couldn't take him to the Southern Tower, as much as he wanted to throw him in a cell in one of the sub-levels. He would have to find a way to lock the Mayor up in his own tower or he would never be able to join the fight in the streets.
A low rumbling resonated down the stairwell from above, chilling Keaton's blood instantly. Shit, they're here.
He clicked his rifle's safety to off, beckoning for his men to follow suit by doing so, and took the lead. The tension between speed and safety began to intensify. Keaton didn't want to run into any of the monsters unprepared, but he couldn't waste time if Merodach were still alive. But why bother saving Merodach? The thought made him slow to a comfortable pace. It will be much easier if we aren't the ones who did him in at all.
He shook the hesitation free. He wouldn't let the man die without being properly judged. The people of Elandir deserved as much, and the men Merodach had sent to their deaths on the battlefield deserved more. He took the steps two at a time, rounding the corners with a whip of his gun and the readiness to unload on an enemy. But each new section of stairs proved clear, and the rumbling noises grew softer with each passing turn.
He ran then, realizing that the Woads were focused on ascending as much as he was. He couldn't run hard enough, his body giving way to his injuries and his breath coming in rasping wheezes. “Go on!” He tried to yell, motioning for the eight men following him to run faster. “Get to Merodach!”
They didn't hesitate and put Keaton to a quiet shame as they sprinted past him. He kept up well enough, but they steadily passed him as floor after floor was taken in the square, spiraling staircase. The central forty floors of the wall were nothing but solid stone and metal. As soon as they passed the them and reached the first floor of the city offices, he foun
d his men had slowed to a stop.
“Door's open sir,” one of the Hunters whispered back to him. “Do we go in?”
“No,” Keaton rasped. “Go... up.” It was driving him mad, but the run had almost decimated what was left of his voice. “Merodach... never leaves... office. It's secure.”
“Aye sir.” The Hunter motioned up.
“Watch your backs,” Keaton hissed, uncertain whether anyone could hear him. But as he was now officially the rear of the group, it would be primarily his job in any case.
Each door they came to at each successive floor was broken in similar manners, either the locks or the hinges shattered on each. It didn't much matter; the place was getting overrun. Each open door produced a higher level of noise than the one previous, and they could hear the doors being crashed through even higher up as they went. Screams sounded among them, causing hesitations that Keaton knew they couldn't spare. He pushed his men onward, ignoring the plight of whoever died in the darkness.
Is this even possible? Keaton couldn't believe what he was seeing. It's almost like they're searching floor by floor for something.
The concept didn't make sense to Keaton, as every time he had encountered the Woads they had acted in a mindless unison, as if controlled by one singular being rather than thinking individually. If they were separating and searching, as it looked like they must be, then there was a level of complexity to them that he had never seen before or thought them capable of. His men continued to slow, and now he let them. He really had to watch the stairs below now; there were as many of the Woads behind the Hunters as there were before them.
He tapped the shoulder of the Hunter next to him. “Watch behind.” Then he turned and made his way to the front of the group.
There were two more stories to go to Merodach's office, and he could hear scratching and pounding on the door above. There was a loud crash as they rounded the corner, followed by screams and gunfire. Keaton saw the foot of the last Woad as it disappeared into the offices immediately below Merodach's. Keaton shone his light down the corridor. The body of a soldier lay against the wall in a growing pool of blood, his pallid face caught in an almost vibrant expression of terror. There was nothing else to be seen as far as his light would shine, even as he heard more doors breaking down and more screams sounding down the way.
