by Swanson, Jay
“Where's an engineer when you need one?” he said as he looked around before he spotted the girl from before. He whistled and motioned for her to join them, the fear so plain on her face he laughed out loud. “Girl, don't worry. We'll make them regret they ever set foot on our lovely continent.” He held up the spindle. “Know how to cut a fuse?”
Within seconds they had the truck rigged and ready to go. Phelts walked around to the passenger's side of the truck and pulled himself into the passenger's seat as the girl put the truck in gear.
“Sir.” She had lost all of her certainty in the face of what was coming. “You won't be able to retreat fast enough.”
“You look much prettier when you're wearing your confidence,” he said as he closed the door. “Stop being so scared and drive the truck.”
She put the truck in gear and began rolling slowly down the hill, honking repeatedly to clear a path as they continued onwards. “I hope you cut that fuse right,” he laughed as angered soldiers ducked out of their way. “Or this is gonna go poorly for all of us.”
They were rolling at a decent clip now, the thinned-out soldiers scattering as they came on. Phelts cringed as they rolled over the dead and dying, but today wasn't their day in any case. He would do what he could now to brighten the moment. He looked over as the girl tied a third and final rope between the steering wheel and the dash of the truck. When did she manage to tie the first two?
“Sir?” She couldn't keep her voice steady as they neared the monsters below. “If you're getting off, now's the time to do it!”
And with a final blast of the horn, she launched herself out of her door. He had been debating what he would do at this point during the entire ride down, and in that instant, he figured he'd rather see the explosion than be a part of it, so he too pushed himself lamely out of the door.
His landing wasn't graceful, and the various cracks he heard when he hit made him think his walk back up the hill would take even longer than expected. He rolled to his side and sat up, the soldiers around him rushing to close the gap created by the passing truck. But the monsters had been taken completely by surprise, and those that were unable to dive to the side were crushed and slammed aside.
The truck was losing momentum, slowing as it reached the center of the oncoming force. He smiled, somehow proud that this had worked so ridiculously well.
“What the hell, sir?” A sergeant from the Western Battalion came running over to yell at him.
“Just watch,” he said as he pointed with a crooked finger. “Ah damnit, I liked that finger.”
And then a massive concussion laid him flat on his back. While the amount of explosive in the back of that truck was not enough to destroy a small moon, it was enough to dig a crater one hundred yards in diameter twenty feet into the side of the slope.
Phelts sat back up as dirt and knobby body parts started falling from the sky. “Still pissed at me, Sergeant?”
“Holy hell...” The sergeant looked at him hopefully. “Is there more of that stuff up there?”
“Nah.” Phelts tried to rise to his feet but realized his other leg was broken now too. It was enough to slow the monsters, he knew, but not enough to win the day. “That's the last explosion you'll be seeing today.”
Just as he finished saying it, another concussion struck the hill farther to the south. Dirt and debris went flying as Phelts uncovered his face to look more closely; he hadn't even realized he had covered it in the first place, and the blood on his sleeve still escaped his notice. “What the hell?”
Then another concussion struck the hill to the north on his right, and another hit directly in front of him. He would have scrambled backwards except he was completely immobile.
“Sir!” The sergeant ran over to point, but Phelts had already seen it. Out at sea beyond the invading ships, the Rowlands navy was making their debut and clearing the hill with their massive guns.
“I didn't know Rowlands had a navy,” Phelts' tone dripped with incredulity. “Bastards could have let us know that before this whole thing started.”
But no one was listening as the cry went up that the day was saved. Rowlands' navy wasn't nearly as numerous as the Relequim's, but their guns could deal far more damage. They chewed into the black fleet at a steady pace. Two ships had risked themselves to cut in on the invasion and swing the fight on shore. The gunfire from the top of the slope renewed as the ground before them was rocked in a steady hail of falling artillery. Phelts could hear wood splintering and the sound of massive splashes before the dust began to settle and he could see more and more of the enemy's black ships sinking for himself.
He breathed a sigh of relief as the realization struck him that they were actually winning, and he was going to survive the day. He had finally done it. He had saved Elandir and would live to see her rise again. Anders... The Hunter's face came to him unbidden in that moment. I wish you could be here to see this.
THIRTY-SEVEN
THE BRETHREN FLEW SLOWLY TOGETHER TOWARDS THE MOUNTAIN UPON WHICH THE RELEQUIM HAD FINALLY REVEALED HIMSELF. The broad plateau was now dominated by a vast series of interweaving cracks that looked like a massive spiderweb of destruction from the air. At its center, in a crater of his own making, stood the greatest and most venomous spider of all.
“Where is Ardin?” Oscilian asked Tristram as if he would know. “We cannot continue without him.”
“We have no choice, brother. He is nowhere to be found. We must fight our rival now, while we still have the chance.” Tristram began moving forward as if he would initiate the strike.
“Wait!” Oscilian reached out his hand. “We do not know what power he bears with him!”
“There is only one way to find out, Oscilian.” Tristram turned to look at his brothers one final time. “We defeated him once before, we can defeat him again.”
And with a crack and a boom, he shot off in an arc that would carry him to their enemy.
“Damn him!” Oscilian shot his wings back behind him as Ishtel followed, propelling himself instantly along the same path that Tristram had taken at such a great speed that he would be upon the Relequim in seconds. “Flank him, brother!” He yelled to Ishtel in the wind. “Cut him down from behind!”
The Dark Brother careened off to the east, altering his course so as to do as he was bid. Oscilian could see the Relequim clearly now. He stood only the height of a man, hidden beneath the folds of some tattered cloak from ages past. This was not the form Oscilian had been expecting, and it only caused him deeper concern to see it.
He pushed himself harder, willing himself to catch up to Tristram before the fool got himself injured or killed. He was only moments behind as Tristram's swords swung free and cut down at the cloaked figure on the mountain. The Relequim's hands shot up, gray claws beneath the robes sending a shockwave up to parry the strike and sending Tristram spinning off to the left. Oscilian swore as he too dove with his sword, angling to strike in the opening he perceived to follow the Relequim's strike.
But he too was met with an invisible strike that vibrated his blade and sent him skidding off course to the right. He came around, slowing as he met Tristram, who was thankfully waiting for him.
“Forgive me my haste, brother.”
“Survive this with me,” Oscilian said quietly, “and all is forgiven.”
“My brothers.” The Relequim turned to face them, pushing his hood back so they could see his angular face. He was nothing but gray, save for the red glow of his sunken eyes. “It has been far too long since our last reunion.”
“We intend to lengthen the gap between such reunions indefinitely,” Tristram boomed back.
“Nonsense.” The Relequim took a step forward, dropping the cloak to the ground to reveal a scrawny, naked, gray body beneath. “We wouldn't want the balance of our world so horribly thrown off by such a brash approach, would we? Isn't that why you so rarely show your nonexistent faces?”
“Your time has come, 'Relequim.'” Oscilian moved forward
slowly as he raised his sword. “Balance was only a concern insofar as keeping it was in the greater interest of the world. You have proven that you do not bring balance but only an unending pull away from it. Your plans will not come to fruition, and though ending you shall scar the world, it will right itself in time.”
“You are, of course, referring to my greatest weapon?” The Relequim laughed. “You know it's finished, don't you my dear brothers? It is finished, and it is invulnerable to your attacks. Even should you defeat me, it would be safe and well. I have mastered the spiritual realm, brothers, and after I am through with you, I shall unleash it on the world.”
With that the Relequim made a motion as if to flex every muscle in his body simultaneously. His limbs jerked in, contorting as he howled in a combination of pain, rage, and exultation. Small pale horns jutted from his cheeks and around the crown of his head, longer ones forcing their way out of his temples and from his elbows and knees. More ran along his spine as his body suddenly began enlarging itself in quick bursts of growth.
Within a matter of seconds he stood fifteen feet tall, his muscular body protected by nothing save his power. His voice deepened as he laughed, rumbling the earth as he drew his hands together to darken the evening skies.
“Let you not be the only few who rise above the earth,” he said as gravity slowly lost its hold on him. Soon he floated above them, silhouetted against the setting sun as smaller stones began to float up and join him. “I agree with you both. This concept of balance is a fetter to a greater world! Let us end it, and thus end the foolishness which follows it so closely!”
A swirling speck appeared in the sun behind him, and before Oscilian or Tristram could think to act, Ishtel bore down on the Relequim with his enormous scythe. But the Relequim reacted in spite of the surprise, raising his claws as he twisted away from the attack and brought up a series of invisible strikes. Ishtel's wings were shredded as his armor was slit a dozen times. He crashed to the ground before the Relequim and slid to a halt just feet from his brothers as they looked on in shock.
“Let us start with silent, deadly Ishtel, and let us continue until my scale is the only one within which weight remains!”
Tristram bellowed a scream from deep within his enormous power, the anger of seeing his brother slain rising in him so quickly that he blazed as if on fire and flew forward heedlessly. Oscilian shouted for him and followed as quickly as he could from necessity. Tristram spun a web of defenses for himself, guarding against every attack that the Relequim now unleashed against him with a potent fury.
The two engaged in a battle that transcended any single plane of existence, each sending a combination of blades, tendrils, and blasts of unnatural fire to destroy their enemy. Oscilian joined in from the side, sending forth his own swirling burst of powerful attacks before hacking down at the Relequim's neck.
The Demon was ready for every attack, his being the greater unified strength, and he handled each in turn with speed cultivated over centuries. He twisted quickly, bringing his right elbow up and hooking Oscilian's blade down with the long horn that protruded from it. He followed with his left fist, bringing a strike around that cut through every one of Oscilian's defenses and hammered him into the next mountain over.
Tristram howled his rage and dove at the Relequim with renewed zeal, twisting his body and spinning his blades so quickly he turned into a wild blur. The Relequim backed steadily away, dodging each strike he didn't see fit to block and waiting patiently for his window to open. Tristram roared like the lions in which he was covered, and sent forward shockwave after shockwave to cut his enemy in half.
The Relequim defended each blow, holding up a gray hand to part the shocks as if parting a breeze. He threw his left hand forward, striking out and forcing Tristram on the defensive, then followed with his right. A thick, black, fire-like mist erupted from his palm, laced in a brilliant display of purple energy as it flashed towards Tristram.
The winged warrior brought up his swords across his face, blocking the strike with their magic and diverting its power around him. But his wings were singed in the diversion, and he suddenly found it difficult to hold his own weight.
“Why you limit yourselves to such pathetically unchanging forms is beyond me,” the Relequim said, withholding none of his hatred as he sent out another black strike. “Your predecessor changed as I do, did he not? I can be, look, and take on the strength of any form I like. That, dear Tristram, is true power!”
Tristram dodged the blast and brought up his hands to send back one of his own. White fire collided with black as the two ate at each other until the Relequim's forced its way through and knocked Tristram back.
“Your same foolish forebear thought dividing his strength to be wise. How exactly?” The Relequim spun as he said it, blocking a blow from Oscilian as he returned to the fight. “Unified you may stand, but divided is how you come!”
He reached out with his claws, grabbing Oscilian with invisible clutches and hurling him into Tristram. The two clattered and skidded to the edge of the mountain before coming to a halt.
“You insult me with your presence. Your precious army will die. Even your boy, in whom you've placed so much faith, has failed you.”
Tristram picked himself up and began repairing his defenses as quickly as he could.
Oscilian joined him, his voice still projecting like thunder in spite of his damaged state. “You cannot win this war, Relequim, even should you take this battle.”
“And yet again you're wrong, Oscilian, you fool. I've turned everyone in this world to my purpose. Even those sworn to defeat me have come to my aid. Charsi, Merodach, those filthy pirates, and even the master of this little king's bodyguard. All of them were swayed with as little as the simplest suggestions, and all of them have fallen the same as the generations that came before them. Even your wretched boy, Ardin, will follow me in the end and betray your cause.”
The Relequim brought his hands together, a resistance growing between them the closer they got until he shuddered to try and bring them closed. Deep black mist grew within them, and then a rune flashed red from within his hands.
“A shame my gloating must here end.”
In the same instant Oscilian, Tristram, and the Relequim all launched their attacks. The white fire of the Brethren blazed so hot that the stone beneath them began to smoke as the white mists poured out of them and away from the conflict. The Relequim's black fire held them both at bay, and slowly a red streak of flame began to grow at its very center.
“'Into the abyss we commend thee.'” the Relequim quoted. “Those were the last words I heard before you sealed me in that forsaken tomb! Well, now into oblivion I send thee, and may you never again return!”
The Relequim flexed again as he pressed forward, the red fire flaring to new life as it pressed into the white and shattered it like glass. Oscilian and Tristram tried to move. They turned quickly to dodge the flames by pulling away, but were overcome in an instant.
“Servants of my hated rival!” The Relequim screamed as he burned them both alive. “To oblivion I send thee! AND MAY YOU NEVER AGAIN RETURN!”
And with a final flare of red in the darkened night sky, the Brethren were no more.
ARDIN MADE HIS WAY UP THE BROAD STAIRS THAT LED INTO KRAKADOR WITH A CERTAINTY HE DIDN'T FULLY UNDERSTAND. The red lights cast shadows in so many hundreds of ways that it became difficult to tell which was cast by what, and though the lights never flickered, they dimmed and wavered in ways that made the structure look alive.
The stone itself was black, a marble that was not naturally so colored but had become so over time. The veins that ran throughout glowed a dull crimson that was their own, as if the life of Krakador was carried in phosphorescent blood. Its gaping windows and arches were simple, but overlaid with metal spikes and fused with the stone likenesses of the Demon's creations. Every face on every statue looked to have been captured in an undying torment, and as Ardin passed them, he could feel them wail
ing as if the very souls of their subjects truly had been captured within.
The depths of Krakador were not silent, though upon first impression he had imagined them to be so. The sensation that the statues were somehow distantly alive held true to the very bowels of the fortress. He wondered whose cries he heard and if the enslaved builders had truly poured their blood into the mortar.
“Ardin.” Rain grabbed his elbow, her strength returned enough to move well on her own. “We can't go in there. This is the very cradle of evil. No one has ever set foot in here and returned.”
“No one has ever set foot in here,” Ardin corrected gently as he took her hand in his own and continued up the steps. “And after today it won't exist. Its sole purpose was to guard the Relequim's greatest weapon, and now that it's complete, there is no reason for him to keep Krakador.”
He clicked his sword free in its sheath and drew it slowly out with his free hand.
“We should turn back!” Rain whispered as they neared the first arches that would take them inside the fortress. “He wouldn't leave it totally unguarded, Ardin.”
“You're right. But you're safe with me.” He turned to stop her. “Just wait here a moment.”
He walked up the rest of the stairs into the brooding darkness beyond the arch. There were no lights in Krakador, at least not within these first few layers. His eyes adjusted quickly, the Shadow within him coming to life in the dim red darkness.
He walked another ten feet forward until he was at the center of the entryway, the vaulted ceiling arching to a point directly above him. He heard the light scraping on the stone before he knew with certainty what he faced. He struck out with his sword. The first Parnithon to land found its face opened wide by the cold steel, and its three companions landed where nothing now existed. Ardin had made the jump as soon as his blow connected, seeing the slightest blur in the dark as the others dove straight for where he had been.
