by Isaac Hooke
I didn’t think a little old boar would scare a big dragon like yourself… Malem told his friend.
Solan erupted into a hearty laugh that Malem could hear all the way from the back of the party.
I see your point, Solan replied.
Mind keeping it down, guzzle mouth? Gwen said. You’ll bring the entire forest down on us at this rate. Let alone the damn witch!
Sorry, Solan said.
Nemertes had been right: it did take longer to reach the house than Malem had anticipated. Instead of twenty minutes, it took forty. So much for airborne estimates.
Finally, they emerged from the forest, and into the small clearing containing the pink-walled house with its orange curtains. The door and roof were painted a bright red.
“Is that blood coating the door?” Gwen asked.
Xaxia frowned. “No, it’s paint.”
Malem reached out, but sensed nothing inside the building. “I can’t get a read on the place. My beast sense is blank.”
“As usual,” Mauritania commented.
Goldenthall strode forward.
“Goldenthall!” Malem hissed.
But the man went up to the door, and stared at the surface. Then he turned around, and announced, loudly: “Yup, it’s paint.” He swiveled toward the door once again, and knocked three times.
“He’s a madman,” Timlir commented. The dwarf had his ax out.
Malem had a mind to draw Balethorn himself, but he held back, for the time being.
The door suddenly creaked open of its own accord.
“I guess she’s inviting us in,” Goldenthall said. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the opening.
Malem sent a songbird inside.
He switched to its viewpoint, and landed on a table set between two couches. He leaped the bird onto the couch, and gazed at the quaint kitchen beyond.
A woman sat at the kitchen table, her back to the door. She was dressed in light, white robes, with a hood raised over her head.
Malem sent the bird in front of her, and landed it on the table. He couldn’t quite see beneath that hood, which was worn low, hiding the woman’s face.
“Can you see her?” Xaxia asked.
“Yes,” Malem said.
“Is she a lich?” the bandit pressed.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t tell. I can’t see her face.”
“I bet she’s a lich,” Xaxia said. “What’s she doing?”
“Nothing, as far as I can tell,” he told her. “Just sitting there.”
“You still don’t sense her, do you?” she said.
He nodded. “No.”
“Yup, that’s a lich,” Xaxia said.
Since he was tapped into the songbird’s viewpoint, sound reached him from both the bird, and his own ears, so when the woman spoke, he heard it.
“Well hello, little bird,” the woman said in a voice that sounded strangely melodic. Completely unlike what Malem had been expecting. “Tell your friends to come inside. Tell them Grendel wishes to speak to them.”
Malem recalled the bird, and then dismissed its point of view.
He glanced at his companions. “She’s inviting us in.”
“Well then, let’s not disappoint her,” Goldenthall said. He stepped inside.
“Xaxia, Timlir, go first,” Malem said. “Timlir, the ax.”
Timlir glanced at the weapon. “What about it?”
Malem frowned. “Kind of rude to be entering someone’s house with a weapon in hand, don’t you think?”
“Oh,” Timlir said, securing the weapon he held to his waist. Then he pointed a finger at Malem and said, playfully: “You’re a smart one, Breaker.”
The dwarf entered with Xaxia.
Malem followed. He paused at the opening. “Mauritania, Ziatrice, Abigail, Wendolin, you’re with me as well. The rest of you, make sure no one ambushes us.”
It wasn’t for no reason he picked some of the most powerful members of his party to accompany him. As for his choice of Xaxia and Timlir—he wanted them present in case magic proved useless.
Taking a long breath, Malem entered.
26
Malem made room for the other four women who entered behind him. When they were inside, the red-painted door shut of its own accord behind them.
With the door closed, the light levels dropped, though not severely. Even though the curtains were all shut inside, they allowed enough light through for Malem to clearly discern his surroundings. His night vision essentially made it seem like midday in there.
Timlir and Xaxia stood on either side of him, with Goldenthall a little in front of them.
Malem gazed at the robed woman expectantly. He still couldn’t sense her, even now that he had laid eyes directly upon her.
She abruptly stood and turned around to regard the newcomers. Her face was hidden in the shadow of her hood.
She raised her hands and lowered that hood, revealing a face younger than Malem was expecting. Perhaps early twenties. Or at least, she appeared to be. Wendolin was hundreds of years old, as was Abigail, but both appeared about the same age as this woman.
She wore her hair in two small buns on either side of her head, and she was pretty, certainly. Cuter than the typical tavern wench. Though a little flat-chested for his tastes. Not that any of that mattered, of course: he wasn’t here to have sex with her.
Despite her youth, which could be unnatural, he didn’t think she was half monster. She looked completely human, at least the part that wasn’t covered by robes. Which would explain why he couldn’t sense her.
She glanced between the different companions, until eventually her eyes settled on Malem. Apparently, instinctively she knew he was the leader.
Am I that easy to pick out?
That would explain why when monsters attacked, they often chose him as a target. Then again, maybe she just got lucky.
“I don’t get visitors in these parts often,” she said. “I prefer it that way, though. I like peace and quiet. I’ve carefully crafted my image, arranged for rumors to spread. That way I can sit here, and remember my youth, and the joy I once knew.”
“You don’t look so old,” Timlir said.
She glanced at the dwarf, and raised an eyebrow. “I thank you for the compliment. But light magic renews the flesh. I am over five hundred years old.”
“Really?” Timlir said. “Well, you’re a wee bit older than me, because I’m four hundred and fifty, lassy.”
She nodded. “It will be good to talk to someone who remembers the past as I do.”
“You are Grendel?” Malem asked.
“I am,” she replied.
“Wait, did you say light magic?” Xaxia asked. “You’re a light mage? I was expecting a dark mage of some kind. Not a mage of the light.”
“Expectations,” Grendel said. “I’m all about managing them. As I told you, a few well-placed rumors in nearby cities, some glowing lights in the night… and the nearby populations are sufficiently spooked into leaving me alone. Most visitors leave my domain well enough alone, however when someone enters my forest, and finds their way to my house, I will usually invite them inside for tea, so that they can catch me up on the news of the world. Though it has been a long time since my last visitor. A very long time.”
“That’s probably because the closest cities have been destroyed,” Malem said. “Their populations killed, or drafted.”
“What?” Grendel said. “When? How?”
“A Balor has been through this way,” he told her.
She stiffened. “A Balor, when?”
“It’s gone now,” Malem said. “Or at least, it was gone. But the demon has returned. That’s why I’m here.”
“A Balor.” She shook her head. “I’ve been so out of touch with the world. I didn’t even know…”
“Actually, there have been two in the past few decades,” Malem said. “First there was Banvil, defeated by my father, the ice mage Nailcrom. And then Vorgon, defeated by me, the Bre
aker Malem.”
She shut her eyes. “I assumed no Balor would ever be able to touch this world again. Not after the agents of balance closed the way.”
“Agents of balance?” Xaxia asked.
“The Paragons.” She opened her eyes and glanced at Malem. “How did you find me?”
“Emeric, of the Blade Elves, pointed us your way,” he told her.
She smiled at the name, her eyes glinting as if some fond memory had come to mind. “Ah, good King Emeric. How is he?”
“He now leads an undead faction under the Khroma mountains,” Malem said.
Grendel’s expression became aghast.
“That happened centuries ago,” Mauritania told her. “You really are out of touch with the world.”
Grendel sighed, slumping. “Now you understand why I prefer memory, to reality.” She turned around, and walked to a curtained window in the kitchen. She opened the curtains, and light rays streamed inside. The movement startled three of Malem’s songbirds that perched just outside, but they returned a moment later to alight upon the windowsill.
“Yours, Breaker?” she asked.
“Good guess,” he replied.
She opened the window and held out a finger toward the birds, as if inviting one to perch there.
Malem commanded one of the birds to land on that finger.
She stroked its little head with her free hand, smiling.
“Such a small thing,” she said. “And yet still so infinitely complex. With a heart, lungs, mind… all the other organs we have, compacted into such a tiny space. They are self-aware, and fear death, just like all of us. Or most. I sometimes wish I had the power of a Breaker, if only for some company in these woods. But then I remind myself why I came. I remind myself of the pain that is the world. Because if I were to befriend these animals, one day, they would die, and I would be left only with my memories once more. It is better not to leave them. The memories, I mean.”
She continued to pet the bird, smiling sadly.
“Emeric told us you were one of the last Great Witches,” Malem said. “That you could summon a Paragon?”
Her expression darkened, and she abruptly tossed her hand toward the window, launching the bird outside. She shut the window, and closed the curtains.
“No,” she said curtly. She turned around, and pointed at the door.
But before she could tell him to go, he forestalled her: “You can’t, or you won’t?”
“The latter,” she said. “It’s just as well I didn’t know a Balor had come to these lands. I cannot fight it. Not anymore. Now please, just go.”
But he stood his ground. “Why can’t you fight?”
She gazed into his face, her eyes full of sadness. “The last time I summoned a Paragon, I nearly lost myself. The agent of balance almost consumed me. If I do it again, I will become like this vessel you carry among you, but worse.” She pointed at Goldenthall.
“You know what he is?” Malem asked.
She nodded. “Of course. I am a light mage. I can sense my opposite in a dark mage. But this one… he is blacker even than the darkest of mages. Such a blackness can only mean he is possessed by a Balor. The demon is weak, yes, but still present nonetheless. Just as the demon is present inside of you.”
Malem nodded. “I control it.”
She cocked her head. “For now.”
He studied her for a moment. “So you won’t fight because you’re afraid of losing yourself to the Paragon? That’s the only reason?”
“That, and I don’t want the pain that comes with the outside world,” she said. “The land beyond this forest is not for me. I’ve seen too much death, too much suffering. And I’ve suffered myself, greatly. I always do, when I set forth outside these woods. No, I stay here, in this house. And here.” She tapped her temple. “Free of worldly concerns. Reliving the best days of my life, again and again.”
“The best days of your life are yet to come,” Malem told her. “If only you allow yourself to experience them. You say you don’t want pain. But that is exactly what life is. Fucking hard, withering pain. The worst kind you can imagine. But you can’t be alive without this suffering. Without pain of some kind. Emotional, physical. The pain of loss. The pain of a chronic injury. But there is also joy there, if you can surface above the pain long enough to find it. Great joy, that makes all the suffering worth it. And I hate to say this, but staying inside your memories, reliving them for the rest of your life, is little different from giving up. You’re not truly living. Not when the world is dead to you.”
She stared at him with a cool expression. “Is that all?”
“Yeah,” he said, still feeling some of the anger that her words had stirred inside him.
“Can you go now?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He turned to leave. “Let’s go. She can’t help us.”
“Wait,” Wendolin said. She addressed Grendel. “You say you are a light mage?”
Grendel merely stared at her, unblinking.
“Is it not a light mage’s sworn duty, as a servant of the agents of balance, to preserve balance in this world?” she asked.
Grendel still didn’t answer.
“A Balor has entered this realm,” Wendolin continued. “Placing it out of balance. As one of the last, if not the last, Great Witches, you are duty bound to do whatever you can to stop this Balor. Even if it means losing yourself to a Paragon, or dying in the process.”
The light mage stared at her for long moments, her expression growing darker by the second. So much so that Malem thought the woman was going to attack.
But then her shoulders slumped.
“Fucking tree elves,” Grendel muttered. “Fine. You want a Paragon at your side, then you will have one. But you may rue the day.” She smiled, baring her teeth. “For you see, not all Paragons are happy to be dragged, kicking and screaming, into this realm.”
She raised her hands, and her exposed flesh began to glow a bright yellow. Brighter the glow became, until soon even her robe was glowing, thanks to the skin underneath. That glow formed an egg like shape around her, but then, abruptly, it collapsed, the bright light sinking into her body, and vanishing beneath the flesh.
But her eyes continued to glow a bright yellow. The cornea, iris, and sclera were completely gone, replaced by that yellow glow.
She turned her head toward Malem, and snarled.
Streams of light erupted from her body like translucent tentacles. They wrapped around him and the others, lifting the party members off the floor. Where those ethereal appendages touched him, they sunk through his dragonscale armor, and he felt a burning pain upon the flesh underneath. Similar spasms of suffering emanated from the energy bundles of his companions.
His arms were unbound, so he tried to strike down at the glowing appendages that led away from his body all the way to the witch, but his hands passed right though them.
“Shit!” Xaxia said. “Get these off me!”
Should we attack? Mauritania sent over the common link he shared with all his Broken companions. Use deadly force to break free? Like Grendel, she too had become as if possessed, her eyes glowing a bright green, and the horns on her head elongating until they were long, goat-like spirals.
Not yet, Malem sent through the pain.
Grendel turned her gaze upon Mauritania, who probably seemed the most threatening among them at the moment, and the witch launched several more appendages of light against her. Mauritania flailed in pain—he could sense sheer agony emanating from her energy bundle—but to her credit, she didn’t cry out or even moan, not once.
Let me attack, Breaker! Mauritania sent.
“Grendel, stop this!” Malem said.
I could transform into a dragon, Abigail sent. We’ll see if she can restrain me then.
Yeah, and you’ll crush the rest of us in the process! Ziatrice commented.
Dark smears erupted from Goldenthall. They traveled aggressively toward Grendel.
“Goldenthall,
no!” Malem said.
But streaks of light from Grendel intercepted the darkness, and they canceled each other out.
“She’s a strong one, this Bitch,” Goldenthall said in a deep, evil voice. His eyes had become a stark black, and mist flowed from them in dark plumes.
Grendel ceased the attack against Mauritania, and instead concentrated on Goldenthall, sending whips of light at the man in waves. Goldenthall flinched as if stung as each one wrapped around him, and he convulsed like a man drowning.
“Stop!” Malem said.
But Grendel did not.
Branches thrust from the kitchen table, emerging from the wood itself, and wrapped around Grendel, restraining her. Wendolin’s doing, no doubt. One particular branch folded around the witch’s neck and squeezed.
Grendel swiveled her angry gaze toward Wendolin, and abandoned Goldenthall—most of the tentacles of light that held the man fell away, leaving only a cursory few keeping the slumping man upright. The former king appeared to be unconscious, and his breath came in ragged wheezes.
Grendel unleashed those whips of light at Wendolin next, but the tree elf was ready, and intercepted them with branches she grew from the table and chairs. The light seeped through the branches, emerging much weaker on the other side. But the individual strands combined to form a single, thick noose of light that Grendel squeezed around Wendolin’s throat in turn.
Malem felt the sudden spike in pain from Wendolin, as well as a rising sense of panic as her oxygen supply was cut off.
Wendolin tightened her own noose around Grendel’s neck, so that Malem could see the skin of the witch’s neck wrinkling above and below the plant. Grendel couldn’t be getting any oxygen, but she didn’t let up her attack. Her eyes glowed brighter than ever as she constricted her grip around the tree elf’s throat.
Wendolin’s energy bundle was growing faint.
Malem frantically fed Wendolin stamina, but it didn’t help… at this point, she needed air more than she needed strength.
She was going to die if he didn’t find a way to stop Grendel.
27
Malem ceased feeding Wendolin stamina and turned toward Grendel.
