Salvation (Scars of the Sundering Book 3)

by Hans Cummings

  “Yes, come to me, Bonelord.”

  She reached toward him.

  “Pancras!” Delilah ran toward him, skidding to a stop and crouching, intent on aiding him to his feet. He pushed her away and pointed to his weapon.

  “Shatterskull!”

  “Let’s get you up.” Delilah pulled at his robes again.

  “I can end this. Go!” He reached toward the weapon, but it lay far from his hand.

  Swearing, the drak archmage dove for the weapon. She scooped it up and dragged it to him.

  As soon as the haft touched his hand, Pancras rolled and swung it toward the Lich Queen’s head, confident she could not withstand its energy. The skull on the maul’s head transformed into a screaming visage as it descended.

  The Lich Queen raised her hand to shield her face and caught Shatterskull.

  Pancras noted his weapon did not sear her flesh. An instant later, the world around him vanished as a flash filled his vision.

  Surrounded by swirling black and violet mists, Pancras stood face to face with the withered, skeletal sorceress. Tattered threads that had once been fine linen robes clung to her body. Her spindling fingers wrapped around Shatterskull, just above his own hand.

  Pancras gritted his teeth. “Get out of my mind!”

  “I cannot.” The Lich Queen’s voice became a raspy hiss. “You are in mine. Do your job, Bonelord. Release me from this world.”

  Chapter 26

  Delilah shielded her eyes as a flash of searing luminescence enveloped Pancras and the Lich Queen. She fell backward, scrambling to avoid an expanding field of scintillating, violet energy that surrounded them.

  Blinking away the aura as her eyes reacted to the glare, she noticed the demons turn toward the amethyst bubble and charge it. They clawed and howled, their talons bouncing off the shield like pebbles thrown against a castle wall.

  She ran across the roof toward Alysha. “Did you do that?”

  “No, but let’s not waste it.” The Frost Queen raised her staff and called down a torrent of fiery hail, pelting the demons that surrounded their mistress and the minotaur. The beasts swatted at the attack, treating the hailstones as annoying flies, and continued to claw at the shield.

  Alysha pointed to the rift. “We have to close that!”

  The rift continued to disgorge shadowy demons, all joining their brethren in trying to claw their way to Pancras and the Lich Queen. Delilah remembered the minotaur’s story about the chaos rift he and Kale dealt with near Ironkrag and committed herself to staying as far away from it as possible.

  Lord Fenwick cradled Valora in his lap. The dwarf’s face was covered in blood. Caressing his cheek, her hand left two crimson streaks. Delilah turned and pointed her staff at one of the spires anchoring the Lich Queen’s legs.

  “Kaléste gi stoicheiaki!”

  The spire trembled. Stones shifted and pulled themselves away from the structure, forming a humanoid shape the same size as the demons. The unsupported top of the spire fell away, taking the crystal with it. The stone creature caught the crystal in its rocky hand and crushed it before lunging for the nearest beast.

  “That’s a neat trick.” Alysha sidled up to Delilah.

  She gestured to the demons. “What in the name of Selene are they doing? We’re still here.”

  Gisella joined them, her silver armor streaked with a mixture of black ichor and blood. “They know their queen is in peril. We should strike while they’re distracted.”

  “I’m almost spent.” Delilah leaned on her staff and observed as demons clawed and lashed at the shield. The stone creature she had conjured traded punches with the one whose face Shatterskull melted, each blow sending the other reeling.

  “We not going to make a dent as long as that rift keeps sending more.” Alysha wiped her brow with her sleeve. “Let’s close it, and then regroup.”

  “Stenee pyealee… stenee pyealee…” The Frost Queen chanted the words over and over, channeling energy into the rift. Delilah pointed her staff at the rift and followed suit. The demons clawing and flailing at the bubble surrounding the Lich Queen and Pancras paid them no mind. As they chanted and streamed arcane power into the tear, it shrank, finally vanishing under the onslaught of the combined might of the two women.

  Delilah huffed and covered her eyes with her hand, giving them respite from the icy rain. “That seemed too easy.”

  “It’s not a difficult task for two and no distractions.” Alysha brushed hair out of her face. “We should prepare for the worst.”

  The archmage surveyed the carnage and flailing demons. “What could be worse than this?”

  Her stone creature slammed its forehead into a demon, after which, her creature seized the foul beast and propelled it over the edge of the tower, pausing to regard the gap left by its creation before it sought fresh prey.

  Alysha gestured toward the crowd of demons battering the shield surrounding Pancras and the Lich Queen. “He might fail at whatever he’s doing in there.”

  ***

  “Release you?” Repeating the Lich Queen’s request rendered it no less absurd. He tugged at Shatterskull. Well, at least I have both hands in this vision. Her grip overpowered his.

  A swirling miasma of inky smoke swirled around them. It formed a column of angry black wind encircling them, but it did not touch either one. “You must. I ask, nay, beg you, Bonelord. I cannot leave on my own. You must guide me to Aita’s realm.”

  Aita’s bonelords shepherded the spirits of the dead into the next realm, particularly those who became trapped in their mortal bodies, either from disease or some other fate. The minotaur could not fathom the Lich Queen’s ploy.

  “You do not trust me.” The ruby glow within her eyes faded slightly, and she hung her head, maintaining her death grip on Shatterskull. “Why should you? I have died twice trying to conquer this land.”

  “Exactly.” Pancras grunted and concentrated on Aita’s energy. He felt it flow through Shatterskull and into his arms. The column of dark smoke surrounding them expanded, moving farther away on all sides. When his concentration lapsed, it closed in, but it still could not reach them.

  “You will never defeat Aita.” That had to be her game—to challenge the Princess of the Underworld.

  “Ha! That is not what I seek.” Impossibly, her smile widened, splitting the thin, papery flesh of her cheek. “I know her realm is not for the likes of me. I will be damned, consigned to oblivion, or worse.”

  “I grew up hearing the stories. There will be no peace in death for you.”

  “Oblivion, non-existence, will be peaceful enough.” She removed one hand from Shatterskull. Still, Pancras could not wrest control of the weapon from her. The Lich Queen cupped his chin in her icy, bony fingers.

  “Hear me, Bonelord. Know that I speak the truth. When I was defeated at Badon Hill, my dominance was broken. Cursing the victors was my last, desperate act. A petty vengeance. The demons with whom I bargained for my power were not so willing to let me go, however. I was bound to them, and they kept me here, using me as a conduit to enter this world.”

  Her glassy-eyed gaze looked past him. “I know not for how long they have kept me like this, ravaging the life-force of my soul for their twisted passageway. I am weary.”

  The Lich Queen regarded Pancras once again, and their eyes met. He felt a shiver begin deep in his spine, and it spread until his whole body trembled. “They could force my spirit into one of my kin. I feel the blood of my daughter out there, fighting. They must not fall to the demons. They could make me whole again, give me flesh and power and the lust to use it. No, not my daughter’s children.

  “I was defeated once, and I rose for vengeance. I was defeated again after raising an army so fearsome even those born after my defeat have nightmares about it. I was a queen, terrible to behold with near-limitless power.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and her hand dropped away from Pancras’s chin. “And now… I do not wish to endure a third defeat. The people will r
ise up again, as they always do. I could kill them all, but I cannot break their spirit. I would be victorious and rule over a land of the dead and a dead land. No lovers, no passion, no life.”

  She relaxed her grip on Shatterskull, and Pancras pulled it from her grasp.

  “Show me the way to oblivion, Bonelord. Release me from this world.” She stood before him, unflinching as he raised Shatterskull to strike.

  Images flooded his mind, images of the demon that resided within him after defeating the bloodmaw beneath Ironkrag. “The demon I confronted spoke of his mistress. Aita believed they acted at your behest. You must be destroyed.”

  “I made a pact, but I am no demon’s mistress.” She offered her hand to Pancras.

  The minotaur, so certain the Lich Queen was the mistress to whom the demon referred, had not ever considered they served another. Of course! All demons ultimately serve Maris, Duchess of War, Mistress of Demons, to bring strife into the world.

  “The demons misled me.”

  “Of course, as they misled the Princess of the Underworld.” The Lich Queen’s raspy chuckle mocked his erroneous conclusion. “And you have no way of knowing whether I am being truthful or not. Ask yourself this: if you truly believe I am no match for Aita’s power, what harm can come from guiding me to the next realm?”

  Damn it. She has a point.

  Pancras allowed Aita’s power to flow through Shatterskull and into him. It warmed him, and his trembling ceased. The dark clouds swirling around them expanded again.

  “Very well, Bekkhildr, the Iron Witch.” He took the Lich Queen’s hand and guided her to the light of oblivion.

  ***

  The demons surrounding Pancras and the Lich Queen raised their heads and howled. Dozens of greasy, smoky tendrils that had been hovering above when Delilah and Alysha closed the rift poured into the rooftop, racing up and over what remained of the spires and toward its center.

  Gisella moved closer to her sister and adjusted the grip on her sword. “This looks bad.”

  “Tinian’s lance! Is there no end to them?” Lord Fenwick helped Valora to her feet. The dwarf woman, unsteady, wiped blood from her eyes with the corner of her cloak. A long gash just past her hairline oozed.

  Delilah and Alysha joined hands and gathered azure tendrils of arcane energy. Blood from a gash on the Frost Queen’s cheek beaded and ran down her enchanted robes, and the archmage’s distinctive stripes appeared muted beneath a coating of blood and gore. Their labored breathing betrayed exhaustion the Golden Slayer shared.

  The inky tendrils coalesced into towering, bat-winged forms. Slavering, tooth-filled maws snapped and snarled. Twin explosions behind Gisella caused all the demons to look upward. Unable to help herself, Gisella twisted her head for a quick glance. The remaining crystal and the spire tethered to the Lich Queen exploded.

  Howls of fury arose from the demons. Those that could tore at the shield surrounding Pancras with renewed vigor. The demons that couldn’t turned and advanced on the companions.

  Valora pushed away Fenwick’s hand and held both of her axes at the ready. “My clan leader said I was a fool for coming here with you lot. He’ll be happy to know he was right.”

  Delilah turned and winked at her. “This is not the first time I’ve done something foolish with a dwarf.”

  Fenwick beat his shield with the side of his blade. Rain bounced off his armor, and a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. “Come on, then! The light of the Tribunal take you!” He eyed Valora, nodding to her, and charged.

  The Golden Slayer raised her sword and screamed, speeding into the fray behind Lord Fenwick. Azure fire swept over their heads, searing demonic flesh. A clawed hand bearing talons larger than her sword came for Gisella, but she threw herself forward, slashing up as she dove. Hot ichor rained upon her, but the demon shrugged off her attack.

  She rolled as she hit the rooftop and jerked to one side to avoid the snapping jaws of a two-headed, dog-faced demon. Gisella kicked it in the face and scrambled away.

  Lord Fenwick raised his shield to block another demon’s toothy bite, stabbing around its side with his sword. He sank it hilt-deep in the demon’s mouth, tearing it free before it closed around his arm.

  “Yaaaaaaa!” Valora’s cry turned Gisella’s head. The dwarf woman rode atop the two-headed dog demon, cleaving its heads with alternating blows from her axes. She swore in Dwarvish as she hacked its skulls like an angry wood cutter.

  Gisella turned as a fiery, bat-winged demon landed in front of her. It threw back its head and howled as she slashed its knee. It punched her in the chest, the force of which sent her sword flying, as she slid along the rooftop.

  Gasping for breath, Gisella braced herself as the demon stomped closer. Its searing talons scorched her neck as it reached toward her.

  Lightning struck the demon. A peal of thunder shook Zamora as the demon growled and swatted at the charred flesh on its head. Then it convulsed. Its eyes bulged, and its flesh disintegrated.

  Gisella glanced around her. All the demons convulsed, screamed, and evaporated. Their tenuous forms swirled around the roof, forming an inverted vortex that reached high into the night sky. The wind buffeted the Golden Slayer, and her cloak flapped around her head. She struggled to regain her footing, an impossible task as the wind pummeled her and the tower shook.

  She heard massive detonations above her. Shards of stone pelted her from behind. As she crawled toward her sister, Gisella covered her head with her cloak. Alysha crouched near Delilah, protecting their heads as best she could.

  When the shower of rock ended, all that remained was the rain. The clouds above poured their watery payload on the land, heedless of the events unfolding below. In the absence of demonic influence, the deluge became warm once again.

  Gisella gazed at the sky, allowing the precipitation to cleanse the demon chill that permeated her bones. “I never thought I’d be glad for this damnable heat and rain.”

  Delilah slapped her hands together and laughed. “It’s grand! Hey, Pancras?” She scanned the area for the minotaur. His still form lay next to a mound of ash. “Pancras!”

  The companions rushed to the minotaur’s side. The stump of his ruined arm was healed, albeit minus his withered forearm. His torso remained still, his fur streaked with grey, and the gash in his leg had closed.

  The drak archmage knelt at his side. “No, no, no, no. Don’t you die, not after all this.”

  Lord Fenwick took Valora’s hand. “We’ll leave you to your friend. Someone should check the lower level and the grounds. We should mourn away from this cursed place.”

  The Justicar and the dwarf headed toward the stairs. Alysha clenched her jaw and knelt alongside Delilah. Shatterskull rested beside the bonelord, its face now unadorned, indistinguishable from an ordinary weapon.

  Delilah lifted his maul. “Damn it all.” She turned away from the minotaur and dragged Shatterskull with her. Gisella sank to her knees at the minotaur’s side and took his hand in hers.

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  ***

  Pancras opened his eyes. He stood on a flat, stark plain of grey. The earth was hard packed, bereft of vegetation, and dispossessed of color. The sky appeared equally uniform. So alike were the sky and the ground, he couldn’t discern where the horizon ended and the sky began. The landscape felt familiar, yet he couldn’t place where he’d seen it. It was as though he had visited this place before, but the details seemed just different enough now that he didn’t recognize it.

  Then a dot appeared. Far away, it too, seemed devoid of details. The dot grew in size. It took the shape of a robed figure, and as it approached, those features resolved into recognizable shapes—ancient robes, the curved hips and breasts of a young woman, and a skull.

  The minotaur knelt before his goddess. “Aita. Another vision.”

  “No.” She extended a porcelain-white hand and brought him to his feet. The skull transformed into the face of a raven-haired woman with eternity in her
eyes. “You are with me now.”

  “Dead again.” Pancras rubbed his arm with his withered… no, not withered. He was whole again. He marveled at his hand as he flexed it.

  “Your task is complete. You shepherded a soul thought lost. Well done, Bonelord.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see his friends gathered around his body. Of course, there is nothing to see. “At the cost of my life. My friends?”

  “They live. They need not mourn you, unless you feel you need to depart the world.” Aita took Pancras’s hand and strode with him. He felt his hooves move, although when he tried to stop them, the sensation continued, as though they glided.

  “It feels different this time. I don’t remember this… place.” The bonelord surveyed the area. The grey expanse appeared no different than when he opened his eyes immediately after releasing the Lich Queen.

  “The Featureless Grey is where I meet all who depart Calliome, but none remember it. It feels different to you because your body clings to life, still.” The goddess chuckled. “You need a bonelord.”

  “I have never heard of this place.” Pancras was no theologian, but he was certain the name should have surfaced at some point during his studies. He found it odd that he didn’t remember having forgotten his previous visits here.

  “It is a realm outside of time, memory, and existence. When you have chosen, you will forget. Again.”

  “Everything?” Pancras eyed Aita. She gazed ahead as they walked, but he thought he perceived a nod.

  “Everything that transpires here.” She gestured ahead. Pancras’s eyes followed her hand toward three shimmering portals, not unlike the Fae Nexus, the portal to the Fae Realm, in Drak-Anor.

  “Does everyone get this choice?” Pancras had never heard any priest speak of choosing one’s fate after death.

  “Some do, but most do not. Even now, the Chosen of Aurora prays over your body. Aurora has heard her pleas and will grant you entry into her realm if you wish it.” Aita gestured toward the left portal. It shimmered with hues of rose and lavender.