“Your confidence is…disturbing,” Kodan admitted. His pale red eyes never left Amar’s clenched fists. “Humans have stood in our way for countless generations. We’ve been beaten at every turn. What makes you think they will lose this time?”
“Because the Humans are doing our work for us. The bulk of the Goblin nation marches on us. The might of the Dwarven Empire is fractured thanks to the subversion of an entire clan to the dark cause. Elves care nothing for the rule of Men.”
“Yet the Aeldruin are allied with the Dwarves of Drimmen Delf,” Kodan countered. “The addition of the Giants concerns me most. They have been sequestered on their mountaintops for so long they’ve rendered themselves irrelevant, yet one now heads towards the Blud Hamr. He can shatter the Olagath Stone and end our plans.”
“The Giant will be stopped. They are not the warriors of old. Long has it been since one of their kind carried a weapon in battle. Have no concern for the one traveling with the wizard. The Gnaals will handle him, thus ending the wizard’s desperate plan. Victory is all but assured.”
Kodan Bak remained unconvinced. “You’ve spoken this before. Each time was met with failure. Your leadership has robbed us of any glory owed.”
“Don’t pursue this train of thought,” Amar warned.
“Why not? The truth may sting but it sometimes needs to be said. What promise can you say that will ensure our victory?”
The leader of the Dae’shan recoiled, his rage turning into pure power unseen since the early days of Malweir. “You push the limits of acceptance, Kodan Bak. One day soon there will be a reckoning.”
“I long for it.”
“Perhaps. For now we must return to Delranan. Arlevon Gale must be readied. The princess will be there shortly.”
Amar folded into darkness and disappeared, leaving the lesser Dae’shan with an inflated sense of victory. The stars had finally aligned to see his rise. Amar Kit’han had led them down dark paths they never should have considered. His failures of leadership exposed grave weaknesses in their development. Kodan Bak wasn’t as strong as Amar but there was still room for hope. After all, one other had gone before.
* * * * *
Artiss Gran, last of the true Dae’shan, marched across the crenellated battlements of Trennaron with only the impassive stone gargoyles for company. His eyes were locked in concern. The darkness at the edge of sight was consuming, smothering. He lacked the ability to see beyond the engineered conflict barreling towards him. After centuries of self-imposed exile in Trennaron, he felt events rushing to an end. The conclusion was still in doubt, though the enemy gained strength daily.
He’d spent hundreds of mortal lifetimes hidden away in the ancient halls. So much had happened yet he seldom had control over it. For a brief period of time the Mages would come to seek his counsel. They sought to learn the histories of the world, claiming curiosity for the greater good of all races. Artiss responded with vigor, even while knowing there was an inescapable dark undertone to several of the Mages. Their lust for knowledge inevitably led to the creation of the crystal of Tol Shere and the subsequent war.
Once, long ago, Artiss felt responsible for the near destruction of all life on Malweir. Then he realized it was never his fault. The dark gods forever sought to break their pact with the gods of light and return to the world to begin a reign of terror. Mankind was the easiest of all races to manipulate. Their fall came swiftly. He was powerless to stop them. Once the dark gods got their ideology in place it was only a matter of time before the world became ripe with chaos and greed. Time passed. Artiss Gran was forgotten by all but the most powerful. His fellow Dae’shan, now willing servants of darkness, left him to his solitary misery. He had become irrelevant. Until now.
“The final dawn is approaching,” he said, patting the bleached stone neck of the nearest gargoyle. “After all this time I wish I had longer to prepare. Some events shouldn’t happen.”
Sorrow tingling through his bones, Artiss Gran headed back inside. His guests would be arriving shortly and he needed to unlock the wards on the Blud Hamr.
TWENTY-ONE
Attack in the Night
Bahr spent most of the day looking over his shoulder, unable to shake the feeling of being hunted by more than one creature. The Gnaal was lurking in the jungle, a monstrous presence ready to devour the world in seas of rot. Even with Anienam, the Gnaal remained a powerful motivator to reach Trennaron quickly. Bahr wasn’t concerned about a demonic leftover from the Mage War. The threat was recognized and expected. What kept him looking back towards Teng was a jilted lover named Cashi Dam.
Youthful pride transformed into arrogance, rendering Cashi incapable of letting Rekka go. This was a fight Bahr related to, not that he had much experience with it. Love was fickle, certainly not in his plans for the future. That didn’t stop any of the strange events since their entrance into the jungle from continuing. Bahr felt control slipping the longer they spent on the quest. Loath as he was to agree with Boen’s singular way of thinking, Bahr needed a tangible enemy to fight. His sword ached to be used against foes needing cleansing, not scorned villagers or magical demons.
“You seem troubled,” Boen told his friend, already guessing at the cause of his unspoken torment. “I still think you should have let me kill that upstart.”
“There’s been enough killing, Boen,” he replied. Bahr almost laughed; even he found it hard to take seriously at this point.
Boen held no such reservations and barked his amusement. “I didn’t think humor was your strong suit, Sea Wolf. This jungle sets me on edge. I wonder what a hearty fire would do to lighten things up some.”
A great commotion erupted in the distance. The ground trembled. Trees swayed to an absent wind. Birds of every color burst into the sky to avoid the havoc rippling through the jungle. Horses whinnied. Dorl was thrown to the ground as branches crashed down around them. It stopped faster than it started.
Bahr steadied his horse and said, “I don’t think the jungle appreciates your humor.”
“Candor perhaps, but not humor,” the Gaimosian replied. “All the more reason to be done with this place and on the road back north.”
Bahr agreed for many reasons. The humidity didn’t agree with him. The heat dried his skin, made him feel tired for no reason. He was a creature of the snow and ice, not verdant jungles filled with any number of poisonous plants or carnivorous animals. The very jungle wanted to kill them, as if it were a sentient entity capable of great malice.
“Mind your tongues! There is latent anger hiding beneath the surface,” Anienam warned them all. “Words can be more powerful than you imagine.”
Boen snorted. “Words don’t kill. Only Man can do that.”
“Fool,” the wizard spat. “There is more strength in spoken words than in your arm, Gaimosian. Words have started every war in history. Words will activate the machine required to breach the realms. Words can be channeled into our darkest thoughts, mimicking the nightmares we fervently try to hide deep inside. After your sword has rusted and your bones ground to dust there will still be words.”
Boen passed off a nervous glare. He had no warmth in his heart for the wizard, though he did maintain a healthy respect for the relic. Sorcery held no place in Gaimosian life. Those surviving bloodlines seldom spoke of the time when their ancestors gathered at the place that would become Ipn Shal and form the rudimentary circle of Mages. Magic was anathema to everything the Gaimosians tried to accomplish. They relied on strength of muscle and steel. Cowards hid behind spells. For Anienam to lash out so brutally cut him to the bone. He was tired. Reluctantly, Boen forced himself to admit it was his word that kept him on the quest. More damned words.
The thought died on the tip of his tongue as a pair of thick banyan trees, ancient as the morning sun, exploded in a fury of slivers and flame. Dead birds and primates dropped from the branches. Smaller brush underneath the mighty stalks burst into flame. Thick, rich smoke curled up into the canopy. Twin monstrous figure
s loomed in the false darkness. Bahr felt the hatred pulse from their bodies and struggled to hold his food down.
“To arms! The enemy is upon us!” Anienam shouted and flexed his fingers. Whispering an ancient spell, the wizard cast his finger towards the larger figure. Blue-white energy flamed in a needle-like blast, striking the nearest Gnaal in the chest. The great beast roared in pain, relishing the feeling again after so many absent centuries.
The very air around them stunk of rot, disease. Their bodies were covered with boils and lesions, visible even through the miasmic darkness concealing the creatures. Created to destroy, the Gnaals were the definition of death itself. Whip-like tails thrashed behind them, sweeping smaller trees aside like fallen leaves in a storm. Their bodies were perpetually cloaked in darkness so foul the air around them died. They were hatred incarnate. An unthinkable deviousness that never should have existed.
Each one of the group found different shapes in the nightmare. Bahr was reminded of some great beast rising from the depths of the ocean while Boen steadied to fight one of the terrible lizards from the dawn of creation. Anienam saw them for what they were, but lacked the strength of vision to view them un-obscured. Only Rekka remained dispassionate about their foes. Trained in how to combat the dark arts, she relaxed her muscles and prepared for battle as plants and insects wilted and died around her. The rot slowly crept forward, washing over the jungle. Her heart bled at seeing the grievous wound being committed on her home.
The first Gnaal roared, a tortured song whispering of the breaking of the world. The second answered in kind. Their chorus twisted into a foul symphony that inspired deep-rooted fears in them all. Leathery wings flapped angrily. Their hate-filled eyes focused on Boen, marking the Gaimosian as the biggest threat. Even he trembled before their approach. Breaking off, the second Gnaal launched into the sky as the first charged into the adventurers.
Anienam brushed past Bahr to meet the onrushing Gnaals. Wave after wave of misery pulsated off their corrupt bodies. Ionascu fell to the ground, vomiting. Blood trickled from his ears. Maleela stood, frozen in shock. Skuld began crying and couldn’t stop. The wizard used all his might to project his energy over the others but it wasn’t enough. Two Gnaals bore so much residue anger it was all he could do to stay on his feet.
He lashed out again and was rewarded with a petrifying scream and the scent of burned flesh choking the air. Anienam’s skin tightened with each burst of power. He felt his hair turning white. Countless years bled from the remainder of his life yet he continued fighting. It was all he had left. Anything less than his total effort would result in the death of those he’d sworn to protect. Malweir needed them all to survive the coming of the dark gods.
Boen overcame his initial paralyzing shock and bellowed an ancient war cry. His massive broadsword gleamed in the firelight, wicked and destructive. The Vengeance Knight charged at the enemy, knowing he lacked the strength required to kill them. His muscles strained against his will, threatening to revolt in the primal need to be set free. He was a caged animal remembering the scent of the fresh kill. Forgotten strength flowed to every end of his large body. The split second between when he attacked to making contact with the Gnaal whispered doom for them all.
Beast and Man collided in raw fury. Flesh was cut. Their combined roars wailed a mournful song. Boen struck rapidly with three successive blows at the Gnaal’s midsection. Without any definable body parts other than the head and arms, it was difficult to find any weaknesses. Boen continued to attack while the Gnaal reeled backwards without striking back. The Gaimosian got the idea that he was being toyed with and leapt back into a defensive crouch. The Gnaal attacked immediately.
Each footstep was like thunder. Leaves and burned embers popped up around the Gnaal. Elongated fangs sliced down from its upper lips. Boen witnessed the sheer intensity in his enemy’s eyes the moment they collided. He braced himself for the impact but it wasn’t enough. They crashed to the jungle floor and began raining blows on each other. Strong as he was, Boen knew it was only a matter of time before the Gnaal wore him down and killed him.
Lighting exploded in the Gnaal’s face. Pieces of flesh, desiccated from a lifetime of disease, melted from its face. Boen rolled, vomiting as he came up on one knee. A black-shafted arrow plunged into the Gnaal’s remaining eye. The great demon clutched at its ruined face, staggering back into the heavy trees still unaffected by the flames. Rekka Jel rushed forward to stand beside Boen, another arrow already notched.
The Gaimosian gathered a mouthful of spit and blew it into the nearby bushes. “My thanks.”
Rekka offered a curt nod and remained vigilant. Gnaals were the consummate predators. Any minor victory she’d won was bound to be short-lived. They killed for sport, often reveling in a perverse form of pleasure derived from their pain. She’d fought them before, once, and barely lived to tell of it. Only her training under Artiss Gran saved her life.
“It will return soon,” she whispered. Her almond eyes scanned the jungle ceaselessly. Her limited success came at Boen’s expense. The Gnaal had been so focused on him it didn’t notice her until too late. She wouldn’t be so fortunate again.
Anienam’s voice, much weaker than it had ever been, bleated, “All of you, fall behind me! I can’t protect you much longer.”
“Wizard, we must be able to do something,” Bahr insisted. Perspiration painted his face. His breath was still ragged from fear. “They must have a weakness.”
Anienam nodded absently. “They do, but none any of you can exploit.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Nothol asked as he half dragged Dorl behind the wizard. He kept staring up into the trees, hoping to find a glimpse of the second, uninjured Gnaal. The monster disappeared in the first moments of the fight and hadn’t been seen since. Nothol had a sneaking suspicion it was busy circling around behind to attack.
“I will use the last of my remaining strength to cast a destruction spell. It should be enough to drive the Gnaals away for good, but you all must remain directly behind me and as close together as possible. Anyone caught outside of my radius will be incinerated.”
“Wait, there is another way,” Rekka said suddenly. Her lithe form slipped between the others to stand beside him and whispered in his hairy, right ear.
His eyes widened, clearly having the strength of her assistance unaccounted for. Once again he underestimated his companions. This time, instead of proving fatal, he took hope. He wasn’t alone. Anienam turned to the others to begin issuing orders.
“Look out!” Ironfoot shouted and tackled Skuld to the ground.
A massive tree, ripped from the earth, was flung straight towards them, making them scatter before being immolated by the thousand pounds of wood. The tree raced towards them. Skuld closed his eyes and whimpered in the face of certain death. Death that never came. He felt the rush of wind. Felt a shadow fall across him. Leaves drifted down around him. The Dwarf looked up to see Groge catch the tree scant meters from him. He saved their lives, even as the massive tree took the Giant to the ground. Skuld cried like a helpless child.
For the second time in a week, Nothol Coll saved Maleela from certain death. His quick thinking took them both out of the tree’s trajectory. They ran into the nearby trees and waited long enough to ensure another wasn’t on the way. Nothol reluctantly let go of her hand long enough to draw his sword, having sheathing it before they fled, and turned back towards the clearing. That moment of distraction proved near-fatal.
A branch cracked the back of his skull, dropping him unconsciously to the ground. Maleela spun, short dagger in her hand, to see Ionascu confronting her. Madness filled his eyes. The heavy branch he used to club Nothol wavered dangerously in his hands. Saliva trickled from the corners of his mouth.
“Ionascu, what are…”
He pointed the club at her. “I gave you every chance! All you had to do was give in to your desires. None of this would be happening if you did. None of it!”
Fear gripped
her. “You’re mad. We need to find a way to stop the Gnaals and escape.”
His laughter was a brittle scratching noise that tickled the back of his throat. “Don’t you see? They’re here for you! That’s all they ever wanted. You must die, Princess.”
Her eyes grew wide as he charged. Maleela braced herself, dagger pointed out in front. “Stay back! I don’t want to hurt you,” she pleaded.
He was already gone, lost in the quagmire of dementia. Months of pent-up frustrations finally took their toll as his mind snapped. The only thing he cared about was killing Maleela in the hopes of redemption by the Dae’shan. He swung wildly. She ducked, barely, and stabbed. The club whooshed as it went through where her head had been. Ionascu cackled and lunged. His weight took him off balance. He tripped and stumbled into Maleela. The impact drove both of them to the ground.
Maleela cried out, partly muffled by his being on top of her. She felt something wet spreading across her chest and immediately imagined the worst. Tears brimming, the young princess of Delranan finally managed to push her attacker away and crawl to safety. Ionascu rolled over until he lay flat on his back. Her dagger was lodged deep in his heart, killing him instantly. Maleela looked down at the blood covering her hands and blouse and wanted to cry. But instead of tears she felt only rage. Every childhood neglect and adult slight came flooding back in. She needed revenge for all of the wrongs committed on her by her father and his people. Ionascu had once been a king’s agent.
Maleela dropped to her knees and crawled to his corpse. Oddly, he seemed satisfied, as if all of his demons had finally stopped tormenting him. She didn’t care. He’d been nothing but deceptive and spiteful since leaving Chadra all those long winter nights ago. He represented everything wrong with the world: the physical manifestation of hatred, death, and rot. Ionascu may have come to terms internally, but the sight of him turned her stomach. She jerked the dagger free, hesitantly at first, and plunged it back down with all of the hate she could muster. She stabbed again and again until blood coated her face and hands. His body jerked with each strike to the central nervous system.
Empire of Bones Page 18
