The Bearer of Secrets (Dark Legacy)

by Kyle Belote

  But tonight, she was on a quest. She would mount the Mind, ride him through a foray of flesh, and then discard him like a corpse on the battlefield.

  Xenomene dropped her outer robe, revealing her stark skin beneath, not bothering with undergarments. Her hand found his leg beneath the blanket, lightly running up to his groin. The Mind stirred but didn’t awaken. Xenomene pulled the covers aside and took him into her mouth until he grew firm. He awoke with a start, finding Xenomene’s red hair rising and falling in the darkness.

  “What–?” he blurted, but she clamped a hand over his mouth, shifting her body to straddle him. Her warm flesh rubbed against his, her smooth torso against his coarse hair. Small breasts pressed against his chest; she kissed him quietly, hungrily, but without a mote of love.

  “A quest,” she breathed. “Shut the fuck up.”

  She slid backward, maneuvering herself over his member and slowly sank. An exhale escaped her as she sheathed him. Warm hands clutched her buttocks, and she felt his mind reach out to meld with hers.

  “No,” she said sharply. “Stay out of my head.”

  His mental caress died away but not before she could feel his disappointment. He sat up, hugging her petite frame to his. She hitched once, up and back down and his skin glistened. The Mind’s eyes went wide, moans of ecstasy escaped him. He kissed her neck, holding her tight. Xeno let out a groan, not of love, but an animalistic craving. She breathed steadily through her mouth.

  A clear, loud call rang out in the night. “STAND TO!”

  Xenomene stopped abruptly, pushing him back down, looking in the direction of the voice. She knew what that meant: war finally found them. She rose off the A’uri, forgetting him like he never existed, and crept towards the opening of canvas, her eyes directed to the origin of the loud voice, but unable to see it through the canvas.

  “What? Why stop? We can still finish! We haven’t even started!” the Mind spoke hurriedly.

  Xeno squared her shoulders, her spine straight, her flesh still bare. The quivering in her body quickened as she wandered closer to the opening of the tent, a strange trance coming over her. When it became obvious that she was not going to finish what she started, the Mind used the visual aid of her naked body and the memory of her warmth to bring himself to culmination. Rising, he cleaned himself as Xeno shifted, picking up her robe.

  “What is wrong with you?” the Mind asked, whirling her around by the arm.

  “War,” she purred.

  “Yeah? So? We expected it.”

  “You are about to watch an artist work,” she declared as she shouldered her robe back on. She didn’t bother to close it. “There will be blood!” she promised with a smile. Her eyes shined like glass, glazed, like she was drunk, or chasing Oblivion, or both. And then she was gone, bolting from his tent.

  Exiting, she rushed to her make shift home of cloth and rope to don her armor, racing past the few tents of their squad, her robe opening wide as she ran. She dropped her clothing as she entered.

  By fate, or fortune, or a little of both, Bitcher glanced up and saw her, his eyes going to her firm, heart-shaped buttocks, a brief glimpse before she disappeared into the darkness inside. She hurried, shrugging into her cloth tunic and breeches before the boiled leather. With the dragon plate armor quickly strapped into place, she emerged with her helmet tucked under her left arm, and her sword slung over her right shoulder.

  Raven sidled up beside her, and he started to say something but stopped, his eyes going distant as he focused on a sound. She heard it too, the sound of massive wings before a roar that split the night.

  She turned her gaze up as dragons descended.

  ***

  Chapter 74 : Cape Gythmel

  Huge talons ripped through the ranks of wizards, shredding the armor of soldiers, all men were defenseless. Each ran for cover, cowering at the nearest refuge. Liquid fire seared flesh in a bright flash, skin boiled, charred. Through the screams and roars, a haughty, sinister laugh filled with mirth echoed as the dragons lay siege to the helpless army of Ralloc.

  “Is this all you can muster, Judas?” boomed Xilor, satisfied with the unfolding battle. “Is there no one who dares to challenge me?”

  Dathyr climbed out from under what cover he could find while the savage beasts dominated the sky and decimated their army. Judas stood alone, untouched. Dathyr passed him, stepping to the edge of the wall. “Someone needs to stand against him.”

  Judas ensnared him by the arm, but the determined youth dragged Judas behind him. “No, you cannot face him,” Judas urged, attempting logic and reason.

  “Someone has to. I do not fear him!”

  “You cannot fear what you do not understand. Listen to me; you cannot defeat him.”

  The younger spun, facing his mentor, eyes ablaze. “You have no faith in my abilities Master, you never have.”

  “It’s not a question of–”

  “You are trying to protect me and hold me back, as you did so long ago. I will not give in and cower. He will fall by my hand,” Dathyr shouted, not toward him but the imminent threat. “I am ready to right all the wrong I have done, to you and our Realm.”

  Judas paused, knowing he’d be unable to dissuade the youth. “I am not going to stand in your way.” The warlock couldn’t hide the sorrow in his voice, and he doubted Dathyr heard it. “May my teachings quicken your heart and nimble your mind.” He let go of his arm, and Dathyr plunged over the edge of the wall between battlements, his fall slowed with displacement. Judas watched the younger man land safely and stalked forward.

  Xilor espied him in the distance. Giddy, he flung his arms out to his sides in anticipation, ready for the newcomer. “He’s mine!” Xilor bellowed.

  Dathyr drew on the black giant as the battle waged around them. Fiery breath illuminated the night, goblins and trolls stormed the wall with ladder and ropes with grapnel hooks. A battering ram lumbered forward, heaved by a sea of bodies.

  Kayis pulled his wand and broke into a sprint, closing the thirty meters. The Dark Lord braced himself. As Dathyr ran, he flicked his wand out to the side and threw a large rock at the oppressor, his incantation inaudible, drowned from the sounds of battle. The rock hurled towards the shadow. Green luminance spewed out and shattered the rock; the blast sent the fragments back at the oncoming attacker.

  Xilor was quick, but Dathyr knew he was quicker. A blast wave raced in front of the former Consul, deflecting peppering fragments. Dathyr closed the last ten meters; the shock wave reached Xilor. With an outstretched hand, the Dark Lord absorbed the blast. The surprise threw Dathyr off stride, enough that Xilor gained the element of surprise.

  “Litimus Spiro,” Dathyr screamed. A swirling pillar of fire erupted from the tip of his wand; the vibrant yellow spun with life and heat. Kayis charged, sprinting, a growl simmering in his throat.

  In the last instant, Xilor mirrored the wizard in a flash, a vortex of green acid spewing from the tip of his wand. Kayis lunged, stabbing. The blade impacted, Xilor’s skeletal hand absorbing the energy. With a jerk, Xilor pierced him, the green acid eating away at Kayis’ flesh, punctured through the gut and upward, burrowing into his throat. Dathyr’s eyes went wide in shock, his mouth fell open, slack. The green light illuminated the insides of his mouth.

  “Pathetic,” Xilor sneered as Kayis’ body slid to the ground. Vanquishing his magic, Xilor stepped on his body as he closed on the wall.

  ***

  Chapter 75 : Judas

  Scaled creatures with fleshy wings swooped down, breathing fire as they dove. If the creatures were not stopped soon, they would tear through all their defenses in moments, killing Xilor’s opposition. Judas reached out for his essence, the magic encompassing him, leeching it from the hordes of trolls and goblins and dragons above. In a mighty blast, the magic surged upward, forming a protective cocoon about Cape Gythmel. The shield reflected the fiery breath, the airborne predators incinerated by their flames. The apex predators, impervious to almost everything e
xcept surgical, magical attacks, the claws of another dragon, or their inferno breath. Even their cousins, the saricrocians, could scarcely hurt them.

  Shrieks escaped the dying beast as they plunged to the ground. As they fell, Judas launched each of the dying carcasses towards the invading army, obliterating hundreds beneath the crushing weight of the colossal creatures, the momentum rolling them through the invading ranks. Try as he might, Judas couldn’t deflect all. Two beasts plunged within the walls, the tail of the second dragon cleaved a massive gap in the wall. The trolls hastily capitalized on the opening.

  With the remaining few dragons retreating, the master serjynts formed their troops in ranks, spears in front, kneeling while swords and shields stood behind. Archers offset behind them, arrows knocked and ready for the approaching storm. Before the dust cleared, the rushing horde broke through the gap, clambering over the lifeless, burnt carcass. The horde was lightly armored, with boiled leather at most, a few stray sights of chain mail, but otherwise vulnerable pawns.

  They don’t win by surviving, they mean to win by sheer numbers, Judas recognized.

  The goblin populace alone outnumbered wizardkind seven to one. Millions of goblins were at Xilor’s disposal. Any other race swearing fealty was more fodder for his war machine.

  The first wave crashed against the spears and fell by the dozens; guts, blood, and other matter spewed from deep gouges, but the throng didn’t slow, only stepped on the bodies of the deceased and continued their attack. The only saving grace came when the trolls stopped to feast on the dead, dropping the number of attackers sharply. Goblins swarmed through the opening, overwhelming the soldiers. Bodies fell upon spears, rebuffed with shields; swords whistled through the air cutting through skin, muscle, and bone. Limbs and heads fell expeditiously, but the soldiers gave precious ground. Some were lost, torn with claws, teeth, or blades, before trampled underfoot, buried in the slick mud churned with blood from the fallen.

  Judas could only watch as he held the protective shield in place, consuming his focus and strength. When he first placed the protective barrier, over half of the attacking dragons died in the first few moments. The others pulled out of their dives and circled, wary of the barrier, but the commands of the Xicx couldn’t not be ignored for long, and soon they swooped down again with fire only to die by their own breath. Others skimmed the barrier, searching for a way through. Unfortunately, the soldiers were on their own.

  The first rank of conscripts fell, as did the second. It seemed they fought a lost cause, a massive wall of fire split Xilor’s army from the Grand Royal Army before sweeping over the goblins and trolls, pushing them back. A black wave of plate flew through the air and landed in front of the men-at-arms, a wedge of shields and gleaming swords. Protected behind them, stood two of the three battlemages that accompanied the Krey; the third attained the rampart, overlooking the battle from high ground. With fluid grace, they advanced through the breach in the wall and fell upon the multitudes. Their irises gleamed scarlet with bloodlust, the whites of their eyes a pale pink hue.

  With a fluid grace formed through years of practice and drilling couldn’t come close to matching their prowess. Their gleaming weapons turned red and black, filth drenching steel. When one attacked, another stepped forward on each side to defend the vulnerable member. The Krey fell upon their enemies in a frenzy, granting no quarter, showing neither mercy or pity. Rarely, but a few times, a sword would break through their defenses and bite into the flesh of a squad member. Their wounds did not bleed, the bloodlust keeping their muscles and bodies taut, barely registered the pain.

  An A’uri standing in the center of the formation reached out with her hand, a yellow-white light flowing from her hand across the gap and flowed into the cut Krey, healing his wound immediately. A faint, narrow white scar rose where the cut healed.

  From the left, a mass rushed the Krey. The wedge pivoted synchronously, the center person changing to another member. A blast of fire arched out from the other A’uri in the group, felling hundreds with the torrid blast. The threat eliminated, the group turned to the front again. They shifted like a gentle ripple in a pond moving out in all directions at once.

  Judas only managed furtive and alacritous glances while holding the shield, but even he was impressed with the Krey. He glanced at the sky, noticing the aerial retreat, the beasts flying back towards the Corridor of Cruelty, most of their numbers consumed by their flames. Of the few dozen that had attacked, only seven withdrew. Judas relinquished the aerial shield and searched for a flat, reflective surface. A sparkle gleamed at him in response, a small shard of glass was just a few feet away, most likely blown up here from an earlier blast.

  He snatched it up, not caring if he cut his hands and waved a hand over the surface, a green-yellow fog swirled over the surface. A familiar and beautiful face with hair the color of flame, amethyst eyes, and porcelain-white, aristocratic features appeared on the other end.

  “Meristal,” he shouted. “Xilor brought dragons! I didn’t count on it, and it took us by surprise. The wall has fallen. We need help from the Royal battlemages. Send reinforcements! The Krey have taken the fight to the enemy, and I don’t know how long they can hold them. Send us whatever you can and quickly!”

  ***

  Chapter 76 : The Black Tide

  Move.

  Is everyone here?

  Of course, can’t you tell?

  Yes, unfortunately.

  Bitcher, hurry up, you’re lagging behind.

  Shut your fucking mouth.

  Silence! the command echoed through all twelve minds.

  The dragons are burning! I can see them falling…

  How is that possible?

  The warlock took care of the aerial threat for now, the Mind spoke out. Defend the Army!

  Twelve hearts beat in unison as each footfall fell in harmony, echoing across the ground. The thundering of breathing chorused through each ear individually, the group’s breathing attuned.

  I reached the ramparts, the Mind called out. Whatever he saw, he could either send the vision to all members of the squad or withhold it. He chose to show them.

  A sea of bodies. Thousands.

  The first rank of the Army has fallen. Move faster! Raven commanded. They put on a burst of speed, their space between each other stayed the same as the ground flew beneath their feet, the earth churned in their wake.

  I ate too much.

  Shut it, Two-tons, you fat fuck.

  Up yours, Bitcher.

  Shut the fuck up, Bitcher!

  Up your ass, you red-head cunt, and a fine ass it is at that. I’d bury my face in it!

  Bitcher’s memory of Xenomene’s short-lived bare bottom flashed through the mind of all twelve; while most would be embarrassed, the image only fueled Xeno’s bloodlust, which in turn, amplified the other eleven. Even the A’uri perceived the pull of the bloodlust, but remained vigilant against the madness, unlike the Krey without a Mind to guide them.

  The second rank has fallen, weapons …

  Drawn, they mentally harmonized.

  Hands, I need you to send a–

  –wall of fire. Incoming.

  Leap! Nine Krey flew through the air, leaping into the buffer created by the wall of fire that the Hand had cast moments before.

  Wedge formation, I’ll take the lead! Raven called. They fell in step, an impenetrable wall of black dragon-plate and gleaming blades.

  Position in the gap and stand fast there. Choke them in the gap, the Mind commanded from above them. They moved collectively. Each Krey controlled their body, but they noted each footfall, breath, thought, or feeling like their own. The Mind, who controlled the hive-like state, attained the ability block out a person or persons from the meld, as the events of death would subject the entire squad to debilitating effect, like witnessing their own death, echoing in each mind, compounding the agony.

  Here come the bodies–I count fifty plus in the first wave–blood for my sword, it will be so p
retty–I fucking hate these cunts already–I love blood, especially theirs–stand ready–brace–strike–step back–Xeno pivot, I’ll take the opening–done, block that incoming blade–shit that stung!–I think they cut me–you were–Hands, heal Mauler–already doing, summoning–that’s warm, that light–I feel it too–I severed his head, did you see the blood spurting?–clamp it down Xeno–it’s still tingling, your healing–it will for a time, just block it out–side, step, wave forming up to the left, hundreds–shift in three, two, one, shifting–I have the center, to me–moving–Hands!–working on it, takes time, casting–sweet gods that’s pretty–yeah, so are the burnt crispy bodies–shut it, cunt–I hope you die, Bitcher–threat cleared, shift center in three, two, one, shift–I have the lead again–hell no, bitch, I’m going to survive just so I can fuck you up the ass–block the incoming attack–ready, step–sword down, reaching–block for him–weapon retrieved–oh sweet gods the blood…

  Xenomene struck hard with an overhand strike, her steel cleaving the goblins head in half, its’ blood splattered her face. Another weapon whirled before her as Raven took the chin, jaw, and nose off another one with a vicious swipe. One troll swung at Raven, but Xeno’s blade was there as Raven coiled back after his strike. Her sword whistled through the troll’s mallet, shattering the wood handle and carving through the top half of his skull. As she pulled back, Tiny, on her left, reached out and struck a foe down as she just cleared the path of his blade. Raven swung low, amputating two goblins at once while Xeno went high and planted her blade in one of their skulls.

  Waves crashed upon the Black Tide and waves were crushed, trampled, repelled, cut, and routed in place. Soon the opening was littered with bodies so high that the Krey started fighting up, the lifeless husks piling around them. A pile of corpses in a sea of enemies became a mound, then a hill. Each steel stroke added to the mass as it turned into a mountain of limbs, legs, and heads, the Krey lunged and pivoted and climbed as a cohesive unit.