Wielder of the Flame

by Nikolas Rex

  “Oh no,” Drake whispered in reaction to the scene.

  He then looked at the sword punctured into his shoulder. He followed the blade with his eyes, slowly up Zildjin’s arm until he locked eyes with Zildjin. Drake’s eyes were one of torture and sorrow.

  “Zildjin, what have I done?”

  Drake sunk to his knees, Zildjin’s hand still gripping the sword. The boy groaned in pain at the sword quivering with the movement. His breastplate slipped further, revealing more of his upper left torso.

  “Drake—” Zildjin didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know how to react. What was this thing possessing the boy?

  Drake’s face suddenly darkened again, his pupils dilating until they enveloped his entire eye, turning them black.

  “I AM DEATH!” He cried, his voice deep, seizing Zildjin’s arm in a grip of steel. Drake wrenched Zildjin’s wrist, twisting it quickly, and forcing Zildjin to release the weapon.

  Zildjin tried to grab Drake’s arm to stop him but his warped and bent gauntlet and metal glove made closing his hand too difficult.

  Drake stood up, sword still in his shoulder, and kneed Zildjin in the torso.

  It was armor against armor, but Zildjin still felt the power in the boy’s strike.

  Zildjin flailed for his weapon still embedded into the boy but Drake blocked his attempts and on top of stopping Zildjin, he began to punch and kick Zildjin, his attacks clanging loudly in the magical room. Blood began to flow down Drake’s armor, sharply contrasting the shiny silver color of his chestplate. Zildjin felt each punch reverberate off his armor, shaking him almost as much as if he were to take the hits without anything on. The boy began to dent, even the magically empowered metal of Marad’s making. Drake punched Zildjin in the face once, then again, then again.

  Zildjin felt like his nose and jaw were broken. Blood poured from his left nostril. Ignoring the pain he focused on his sword and finally grabbed hold of his weapon and wrenched it sideways. Drake snarled in a sort of half pained half angry way. Before Zildjin could withdraw the blade the boy brought another knee up into Zildjin’s torso.

  This time Zildjin really felt it, the wind being knocked out of him. He fell to his knees, letting go of his sword, gasping for breath.

  Drake stood over him, finally confident in his victory. He withdrew the blade from his shoulder, seemingly indifferent to the blood that now freely spilt from his wound. Without so much another word Drake lifted the stolen weapon to strike Zildjin down.

  Zildjin’s life flashed before his eyes.

  Within a heartbeat’s time he remembered being left at the docks, he remembered begging for food on the streets of Kolima. He remembered Eleanor’s motherly embrace and his childhood at the Magic Emporium. He recalled warm Refoveo days on the beach, swimming carefree and fishing. He remembered the smell of fresh fish at the markets and floor covered with wood shavings in Soren’s boat repair workshop. He remembered the two magical beings appearing to him and the magnificence and splendor he felt in their presence. He had never been with a woman, never even courted one, and he thought once more:

  I do not wish to die, not yet.

  Chapter Fifty One

  Belator

  Marc made his way to the opening for a second time.

  He poked his head through and looked around.

  A thick, dense, fog hung over everything. But what he was able to see seemed clear enough.

  He motioned for Laura to follow and stepped out.

  The building they were in, and the two buildings on opposite sides of it, had collapsed, creating a pile of wreckage at least two stories high.

  From what she could make out Laura recognized the street.

  She nodded, “This is Sulendald, but this is unquestionably not what it looked like mere fortnights ago, when I was here last.”

  Marc nodded.

  They climbed up out of the wreck until they were street level.

  “All this fog is making it impossible to see,” Marc said in both a commenting and complaining sort of way.

  Laura agreed with a silent gesture of her head.

  “So,” Laura said, “We just walk around until we find the others?”

  “Or until they find us.”

  “Or until we run into whatever is creating these things and put an end to it.”

  “Or whoever is creating them.”

  “True.”

  They fell silent for a moment.

  “Which way?” Marc asked.

  “How should I know?” Laura replied.

  “You’ve been here before, I haven’t.”

  Laura shrugged noncommittally.

  “We are in the slums of Sulendald,” Laura said, “and a small side road at that. We could make our way to a larger main road in the city and see what we find there.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  She smiled. He returned the smile.

  Laura began to navigate as best as she could remember their way out of the slums. The fog was making the task almost impossible.

  They had barely made it a city block before Marc said to stop.

  “You hear that?” he whispered.

  Laura nodded.

  “Should we fight them? Or try and go around?” he asked, still whispering.

  “The city must be crawling with them,” She replied. “Better to just fight them and get it over with.”

  Marc agreed.

  They continued down the street until they met the first one.

  It was more rotted than the others they had seen, muscles just barely keeping bones together and joints moving.

  It shambled towards them immediately as they came into view.

  Marc moved quickly and in one swift motion he separated its head from what was left of its body. The body fell apart in a heap.

  There were some groans nearby and the sounds of hurried but clumsy footsteps. More undead appeared suddenly out of the mist.

  “Let’s go to work,” Marc said, “same as before.”

  “Works for me.”

  “Cut the heads off. That seems to work best.”

  Laura nodded.

  Marc let the Phoenix Blade crackle with bright flames and began to hack away.

  They took out around fifteen before they stopped coming. Laura cut the heads off of another half dozen or so.

  Marc noticed that the fog around their immediate vicinity had lifted considerably.

  “It is the fire from the Sword,” Laura replied when Marc made a comment about the fog lifting.

  “It is?”

  Laura nodded.

  Marc grinned.

  He raised the Sword of the Phoenix high.

  “Let’s see what this does.”

  He let the fire from the blade burn brightly, shooting up into the sky in a single column. Just as Laura had said, the nearest fog burned away instantly, The effect of the flame weakened at further and further distances. Marc moved the column of fire, burning away fog in random patches.

  “Great!” He cried, “Now let’s add a little heat!”

  He concentrated and pushed more energy into the flaming pillar. He let it reach higher, and widened it significantly. The fog began to evaporate in large amounts, revealing considerable stretches of the street.

  “Higher and you might be able to see the sky,” Laura suggested, raising her voice against the roar of the flame.

  Marc nodded and then pushed the magic higher. Again, as Laura predicted, the fire pierced through the upper layer of fog and the blue sky appeared, revealing a bright sunny day. The additional sunlight began to work away at the lower levels of fog, helping to clear away more.

  “We have company,” Laura suddenly noted.

  Marc glanced at several figures shambling down the street. They were more of the grotesque reanimated monsters. With the improved visibility Marc and Laura were able to see their approaching enemies from afar and better prepare themselves.

  “Looks like another dozen or so,” Laura said.

  “
I’ve got this,” Marc said.

  In a heartbeat he transformed the large blazing column into several individual balls of fire and one by one launched them at the oncoming figures.

  The fireballs landed with fairly precise accuracy and exploded upon impact, torching the entire enemy group.

  “Very well done,” Laura applauded him. “How much energy have you used up on all this though, you cannot get tired too quickly.”

  “Barely broke a sweat so far,” Marc replied.

  As he finished speaking, another group appeared, this time at the other end of the street.

  “I will handle this group,” Laura said.

  “Really? You’ve recovered your spent energy enough alrea—”

  Before he had even finished speaking Laura disappeared from beside him and appeared in the center of the newly appeared group of undead. She cut the head off of one of the things and disappeared. She reappeared behind another, slicing its head from its body, and then disappeared again, all before any of the monsters could react. After the last had fallen, she disappeared a final time and reappeared next to Marc.

  She was breathing heavily and had sweat on her brow, but seemed not too drained.

  “Very impressive,” he said.

  They broke out some more water and continued onward.

  When they reached areas of heavy fog, Marc would again wield his magic to clear the way, which would lead to the appearance of more undead to fight.

  They used all sorts of tactics to fight the shambling creatures, reverting to the most basic when they felt too tired for anything fancy. With the way cleared to see Laura was able to better make out streets that she remembered from unknown paths. Laura continued to comment on how different the city was.

  “Destroyed,” She shook her head. “this place has been reduced to rubble in such a short amount of time.”

  They kept hoping to find the others but were disappointed to keep running into enemies instead.

  They also discovered that the monsters preferred to avoid sunlight. The sun seemed to help burn away the already rotting reanimated flesh on the undead. Which answered the questions they had of the fog. Whenever Marc could, especially if it helped end skirmishes more quickly, he would burn away fog to allow for sunlight to pour down onto their battles.

  It was around middag when they realized how hungry they were.

  “Let’s go into one of the more visibly sturdy buildings,” Marc suggested.

  Laura seemed unsure on the proposition.

  “We’ll clear it out completely before we sit down,” Marc paused, “I just don’t want to eat on the road, you know, so exposed.”

  Laura agreed.

  They walked about another block before finding a suitable structure. It was two stories tall and appeared somewhat homely in the ruins around it.

  Marc opened the front door with his foot, sword drawn.

  The hinges on the door creaked loudly in protest.

  “Do you think there is anyone alive in the city? Anyone at all?”

  Laura shook her head.

  “If there were,” Marc continued, “They would’ve hid inside somewhere.”

  “True,” Laura agreed, “But I would say we have traveled through half the city so far and have stumbled only upon those things.”

  Marc nodded.

  The building’s interior was quite dark. Marc adjusted the energy permeating from the Sword of the Phoenix and the golden aura around him accordingly for proper illumination. He used the Phoenix Blade like a torch, extending his arm towards places he wanted to see better.

  They entered into a nice entryway that led to a short hall with doors on the left side and a large two door open space leading into a room filled with tables and chairs.

  “It looks like some sort of Inn common room,” Marc said.

  Laura nodded.

  Marc stepped into the short hall and down the two small steps into the common room.

  “A bar,” Laura said, “Fancy a drink of something with a little more strength?”

  Laura crossed the room and approached the bar.

  Marc followed after.

  “Maybe,” he said.

  She quietly walked over to the bar and began looking through the bottles and things on the counter there.

  Marc faced away from the bar, shining his light to survey the whole room.

  It was then that he saw it.

  A number of tables had been overturned near the corner of the room. Piles of bodies lay behind the tables. Marc quickly made out the curves and contours of several female bodies, adults. And then he saw the little shoes, like moccasins, poking out from underneath an overturned chair.

  A wave of nausea hit him and threatened to overwhelm him. He felt a fleeting vertigo and thought he might pass out. Images of the Fae One’s death and the vision he had popped into his head.

  The little shoes, a child, a mere toddler.

  Bile rose up in his throat.

  Marc turned back to face Laura.

  She was still preoccupied with the bar, checking several bottles.

  “They are all empty,” Laura said, meaning the bottles.

  “Laura,” Marc said softly, coming up to stand behind her.

  He put his hands on her shoulders to stop her from turning around.

  She could sense something in his tone and froze.

  “You can look if you want, but I am telling you there is something behind us you do not want to see.”

  She nodded.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  She shut her eyes.

  “Just hold my hand.”

  Marc maneuvered through the tables and chairs and out the door.

  When they were outside again he said.

  “You can open your eyes again.”

  She did and looked at him.

  She hugged him tight, their armor clinking at the embrace.

  “What—what was it?” She whispered after she released him.

  “Women, and children, dead.” Marc said quietly.

  Laura became misty eyed, “Kimira, and Kaelynn, they will be dead too if we cannot stop whoever did this.”

  Marc nodded, then said, “Yes, we will find out who did this, and stop them.”

  Neither of them were hungry after that.

  ***

  They continued on through the city, now with a stronger sense of urgency.

  Marc let the Sword of the Phoenix blaze more frequently than before, burning away as much fog as he could.

  They ran into larger groups of the undead as they progressed.

  Ten quickly doubled, and then doubled again. The monsters were mostly easy to kill, but in larger numbers it began to wear on Marc and Laura.

  “We are getting close,” Laura said, “I recognize a lot of things now. The main pathway through the city should be just up ahead.”

  “I have a feeling,” Marc said, “There is going to be a large number of zombies on the main road. Let’s get on top of a building and clear the fog from there. Then we will be able to see the main road from city entrance to, well, wherever it leads. I don’t want to be on the ground when we reach the main road.”

  They searched several streets before they found a building that was both tall and appeared sturdy enough to stay standing. It was five stories high.

  “I can just take us up there from here, I can see the roof.”

  “You have already expended so much energy. It won’t hurt to walk.”

  “I hope we do not run into anything—” she paused, “like before.”

  “You can keep your eyes closed, I will lead you.”

  Laura did not close her eyes, but she kept her gaze upon Marc’s head and shoulders at all times. They moved quickly through the building, searching for a staircase. When they found one they followed it to the top, checking each step to make sure it would support their weight.

  Finally they reached the top floor, soon after they found a hatch that led to the roof.

  The roof was sl
anted and tiled and tricky to walk on.

  Marc found the highest point of the roof that was still intact and looked around.

  Laura stood nearby.

  “Look at all the place’s we’ve been already,” Marc said, pointing out the places of light in the distance, where the fog no longer occupied.

  Laura nodded.

  “Let’s do this, then,” Marc said, after taking a long swig of his water.

  He brought the Sword of the Phoenix to bear and released its magic with more force than he had that day.

  He sent it out in a bubble shockwave of fire, weak in strength, but massive in its range and scope.

  Fog burned for miles, revealing what they couldn’t see before.

  Marc sat down at the expenditure, and surveyed his work.

  Laura and Marc were shocked when they saw hundreds of thousands of pale green and gray figures lined up along the main road of Sulendald. Most were of the kind they had encountered already, smaller and weak in appearance, but there were many stronger looking ones and even large monstrous undead that looked to be ten and twelve feet in height.

  They were not even able to fully assimilate the new information as Laura pointed out something headed towards them, flying through the air.

  A moving cloud of fog supporting group of figures about ten or so in number, was approaching Laura and Marc. Several undead surrounded what looked to be an extremely pale bald man dressed in dark robes at the center of the cloud, the upper portions of his robes rolled down to reveal his torso. He had some sort of dark shoulder plates on and a long black scythe in one hand.

  “What is that?” Laura asked.

  “I have a feeling about it,” Marc replied, “and it isn’t a good one.”

  The moving cloud stopped, not too far from the building Laura and Marc were standing on top of.

  “I am Belator!” The pale figure in the center of the cloud announced, his voice echoed loudly, enhanced by magic, “Sorcerer and Necromancer, Descendant of Narameth himself, True Monarch of the Resurrected! Who dares enter my kingdom and defy me?”

  Marc stood tall and proud and shouted, “I am Marcus Kendrick Hughes, Wielder of the Flame, Defender of all that is good and true! This is not your kingdom! This city belongs to the Freelanders! We have seen your appalling deeds here and have come to stop you! I will grant you one chance now, to destroy your unholy army and leave Lyrridia in peace, never to return here again, or by the Exalted I will destroy you myself!”