by Isaac Hooke
When Ziatrice lowered her halberd, the words she spoke were cutting. “No. You will feel this pain for the rest of your life. His eyes became black, and he asked you to take his life? You should have refused. No matter what he asked. You should have said no. And now you will suffer for what you have done for the rest of your days.”
And so Abigail would.
Ziatrice was there even now, joining Abigail in carrying his body through the aisle of the gathered troops. When Abigail glanced at her, the night elf’s expression seemed cold, unreadable.
She glanced at Malem on the pallet. He still wore the same peaceful expression that had come over his face after the blade penetrated his chest.
She still remembered that moment keenly, and probably would for the rest of her life: as soon as the sword stabbed his torso, the darkness faded from his eyes, and the black mist dissipated. The hate left his features, and it was as if a vast burden lifted from his shoulders. He looked at her with his own eyes, and the last words that left his lips were: “thank you.”
I can’t believe that all of this was for nothing. His whole life was spent running, and finally, when he broke free of the demons that chased him, this had to happen. He wasn’t ready to die. She shook her head. None of us ever are. I just wish… I wish his death hadn’t been by my hand.
And that thought only made her feel the pain all the more keenly, and she couldn’t help the tears that flowed. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry here, in front of everyone, but she couldn’t help it.
Why did he have to make me do this? Why? That bastard. I hate him so much. I hate him!
She kept on like that for some time, in turmoil with herself while she walked, drifting between hatred and sadness and a myriad of other emotions, until finally she got a hold of herself.
She sighed.
He died, leaving me behind. And there’s nothing I can do but put back together the broken pieces of my life.
It was made all the harder by the fact they were going to be married. Married!
Well, okay, he had never actually agreed to marry her, despite the pressure her father had applied. She was the one who had made the suggestion to her father, who had been enraged when he found out Malem had Broken her. Agantas had smiled deviously when she brought up marriage, and agreed it would be a suiting punishment for the Breaker.
Even if Malem wasn’t planning on marrying her, it felt like he was her betrothed. He had chosen her to be the first to his bed that fateful night, after all. Still, she wished it had been someone else. Then she wouldn’t feel this guilt. But it wouldn’t have lessened the resultant sorrow, either way.
She took comfort in the fact that she wasn’t the only one who had to bear this sorrow. The other women partook in her grief, and that made it somehow easier to bear. But the guilt she had for what she had done was still overpowering, and she could almost feel the accusation in the eyes of the others whenever they looked at her.
Malem’s presence was gone from her head. As were the voices of the other women. Forever. She missed that perhaps more than anything else, because no matter how far away he ever was, she would always feel him there, at the back of her mind. They could never truly be apart. But now…
It’s the end of an era.
The companions reached the clearing where the pyre awaited.
The dragons circled overhead, Blues, Blacks, and Metals, to pay homage to this man who had given up everything to save them all. Nemertes was there. Agantas. All her friends.
She lifted the pallet onto the wooden framework, and there laid Malem to rest.
Then she and the others backed away.
Wendolin was saying something to address the crowd. Abigail wasn’t listening. How could she?
She continued to back away, until she hit the front ranks of the soldiers who had gathered to pay their final respects. She started, feeling suddenly hemmed in.
She couldn’t make herself be there. Not when they burned the actual body. All the other women planned to stay. But not her.
This is my fault. I caused this.
She turned around, aware of all eyes on her, and shoved her way through the crowd. She forced them back, hardly seeing through the tears, and most parted to let her pass.
Malem had said she was the strongest. He was wrong. She was the weakest among them. She knew that in her heart. And he had trammeled her with a burden she wasn’t strong enough to bear…
She kept shoving forward until she emerged on the other side of the gathered throng, and then she broke into a run, weaving between the army’s tents.
She could barely see for all the tears in her eyes, and finally tripped over a guy rope and dropped to the ground. She buried her face in her hands and wept.
When she pushed herself up off the ground, she realized she was in front of Malem’s tent.
The army had left it standing. No one had touched it—no one had dared.
She walked to the opening and stumbled inside.
Once there, she collapsed on the floor, and just stared, blankly, at the ceiling.
In that moment, she swore she was going to kill Denfidal. She was going to travel to the Black Realm, and destroy the demon before it recovered. Too hell with balance.
This was her new life’s goal.
The acrid smell of smoke assailed her nostrils then.
The funeral pyre had been lit.
They’re burning him. Burning him.
With a sigh she sat up and stared at the bed. She had so many pleasant memories associated with that bed. Memories that were now too painful to dwell on. She felt like burning the bed, too, in that moment. She resisted the urge to transform into a silver dragon and do just that.
Then she noticed something strange.
Smoke was rising from the corner of the room. She was certain the smell came from the pyre outside, but apparently something else was burning, too. A humming also came from that side of the tent.
Worried that the tent was on fire, she clambered to her feet, and went to the corner. She spotted Malem’s scabbard on the ground. Someone had sheathed Balethorn, and tossed it there.
The scabbard was shaking frantically, as if the sword was trying to break free. The humming came from it, as did the smoke.
She hesitated. She had always hated that blade. It desired the blood of dragons more than anything in this world. But she hated it even more now, considering what she had most recently used it for.
But that humming, and that shaking, weren’t normal. She had never seen the sword behave in this manner.
Reluctantly, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt, and drew the sword.
It shone molten red in her hands, lighting up the whole room.
She suddenly realized she had made a very big mistake.
Malem wasn’t dead.
The magical entity inside of the sword had saved him, somehow. She was certain of it.
And yet, at this very moment, they were burning him on the pyre.
In her head, she heard him scream.
44
Darkness.
Malem had died.
He knew this, yet he did not know it. He could not think. Nor see, nor hear. He felt no pain, pleasure, hot, or cold. He was nothingness.
And then there was light.
Malem floated above the world of blades and talons that existed inside of the sword. The firmament above was gray with the metal of the huge sword that covered the sky, and the land below littered with the bodies of dragons caught up in the huge crisscrossing blades that covered the landscape as far as the eye could see.
He saw his own body down there, the centerpiece, impaled upon two such swords.
The carcasses just below shifted, and a dragon made of bone and steel emerged from the pile of dead. A purple mist outlined this dragon, delineating the body of the creature that once was.
The Holder has returned! Balu said gleefully. And now I shall feed upon it, and break free of its vise!
It lunged toward him with that
giant mouth, but Malem raised a translucent hand.
Stop. He exerted his will.
Balu froze.
You are mine, Dragon of the Sword, Malem said. I have Broken you, and you will obey me. You have drained my essence, but you will not feed upon it. This I command.
I will feed! Balu said, snapping at the air in front of him with those teeth composed of swords.
Actually, you will return my essence to my body, Malem ordered.
No! Balu said, fighting him. I shall have my due, Holder. I shall be free!
It lunged again, but Malem tightened his will, and the creature froze once more.
Return me, Malem repeated.
He willed several of the giant swords dotting the landscape below to rise, and he used them to snatch up the dragon. The creature flailed about in their grip, and then finally ceased struggling. The purple mist delineating the dragon moved in and out in the flank regions, as if the creature was gasping for breath.
You can return… yourself… fool! Balu said.
Oh.
Malem glanced at his body where it was impaled below, and he instinctively knew what to do.
He willed himself down toward that body, and as he neared it, he was sucked inside. He released Balu as he vanished within.
Darkness came once more, and then he opened his eyes.
He was lying down on some hard surface, and his gaze was upon the sky. Smoke curled upward from either side of him.
He felt kind of hot.
As in, extraordinarily so.
He lives! Abigail sent in his head. Mauritania, get him off there!
A green blur appeared beside him, and the half Eldritch emerged from its heart, wrapping her large arms around him and scooping him up. Then she leaped down, off the edge of what looked like a burning pyre of some sort.
When she landed, she ran away from that pyre.
He glanced at her back. “You’re burned.”
“It’s nothing,” Mauritania said, her eyes glistening with joy.
She lowered him to the ground, and his other companions surrounded him.
Weyanna lifted up his tunic and gazed at his chest. “Impossible! There’s no wound.” She too was crying, but he thought they were tears of joy.
“Don’t you ever do that to us again!” Ziatrice said, hugging him.
Gwen hugged him, too. “I second that!”
“Third!” Xaxia said.
“Group hug!” Sylfi shouted.
And so he was completely wrapped up in their embrace, feeling so very loved.
When they released him, the still stunned soldiers of his army parted to allow someone through.
Abigail.
She was breathing hard, as if she had run here as fast as she could.
Then she too hugged him, so very tight. “I thought I’d lost you,” she said. “I thought I’d slain you.”
“You did,” he said. “But I told you to do this. You did the right thing. You fulfilled your promise. Denfidal is gone, and will never return. At least not in our lifetimes. And the Defiler is dead as well.”
“But how come you live?” Abigail said.
“This I would like to know, too,” Weyanna said from beside her.
“I can’t be killed by my own blade, apparently,” he said. “Or rather, not permanently. I was dead, but Balu brought me back to the realm of the sword, in order to claim its due. Or so Balu thought.”
“Balu?” Abigail asked.
“The entity at the heart of the sword,” Malem said. “The creature is mine: I had already Broken it, and when Balu brought me to its realm, I commanded the entity to return me to my body. Turns out, I had the power to do that myself.”
“But when you Broke the blade previously, you returned instantaneously,” Xaxia said. “This time, it took days.”
He nodded. “Like I said, I was dead. I guess it took some time for Balu to retrieve me.”
A golden dragon swooped lower overhead, and flapped its wings rapidly to slow its descent as it came in for a landing. The soldiers of Malem’s army scattered, and the golden alighted next to his companions and the burning pyre.
Agantas.
The king glared at Ziatrice when he saw her—Agantas still held a grudge against her. Back when she was invading Fallow Gate for Vorgon, the night elf had held the king down with her chains of mist, and made him watch while she skinned the scales from his daughter Abigail.
Agantas looked at Malem.
“You cheat death yet again, Breaker,” the dragon king said.
“I’m getting good at it,” Malem agreed. “Though I’m wondering, when have I cheated death previously?”
“When the Darkness tried to take you,” Agantas said.
“Oh, that’s what you mean,” Malem said. “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever come closer than this.” He glanced at his companions for a moment before returning his attention to the king. “I’m sure you’ve already answered this question in my absence, but I really want to know: what made you and the Metals join us? Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate it. But I never sent for help.”
“We saw your dark army passing by Khaledonius,” Agantas said. “And we left our homes, originally meaning to attack: we thought you planned to invade some other kingdom. I wanted to be sure though, so I had a few scouts follow along behind you, to confirm your intentions, while the rest of us lingered some distance behind. When we finally realized you were attacking Balors, of course we had to help. The scouts returned, and the rest of us rushed to your aid as fast as we were able.”
“Well, thank you,” Malem said.
“Of course,” Agantas said. “Had to ensure my daughter’s safety, after all. And make sure you kept your promise to marry her.”
“What?” Gwen said. “You promised to marry Abigail?”
“No!” Malem told her. “I never agreed to anything. The king tries to sow division among you.”
“Oh, you’ll marry her yet,” Agantas said.
Wanting to change the subject, Malem quickly turned to address Wendolin. “And what about your tree elves? Why did they come?” He gazed past her, and saw the elves with their griffins standing apart from the other members of his army behind her.
One of the tree elves stepped forward and spoke. “We came because Wendolin summoned us.”
“Summoned?” Malem asked.
The elf came closer. “When we spotted the dragons passing by to the south of our forest, we realized they were yours, so we sent a homing pigeon, designed to follow our queen’s specific magical signature.”
Malem glanced at Wendolin, who nodded. “When it arrived, I wrote a message back, explaining what was afoot. I told my elves to send the army. And so they did.”
Malem shook his head, smiling in wonder. “Even though I specifically forbade you from doing so.”
“You never forbade me from contacting them,” she said. “You told me I couldn’t visit them in person. Sending a homing pigeon doesn’t count.” She shrugged. “Without their help we would have lost.”
He nodded. “You don’t understand, I’m happy. And I thank you for teaching me when I’m wrong. I should have let you fly north to contact them. I’ll get the hang off this emperor thing someday. But even so, I’d appreciate it if, going forward, you’d inform me of your plans ahead of time, so I’m not surprised.”
She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I guess I was worried you were going to say no.”
He probably would have, knowing his stubbornness, but he didn’t say anything.
Instead, he looked toward the surrounding troops. “Where’s Aurora?”
As soon as the question left his lips, he realized he still sensed her. She was somewhere to the west, among the tents.
“Safe,” Abigail said. “And under guard.”
“Good,” he said. “I want her to explain how that sword of hers works sometime.”
He saw Grendel standing there, behind Wendolin, slightly apart from the others, and he smiled.
&
nbsp; “You did it,” he told the light mage, welcoming her into the conversation.
She stepped forward, resplendent in her white robes. “Yes. Somehow, I found the strength to summon the Paragon when the time came. And on the way, I managed to avoid losing myself to the entity. I am me again, and only me.”
“Glad to hear it,” Malem said. “You want to return to your woods as soon as possible, I suppose?”
“I want to return, someday,” Grendel agreed. “But I’ve decided to stay a while longer, if that’s all right. Now that I’ve been traveling with you for a while, I find that I’ve grown used to you and the others. And I find that I yearn for a little more human contact.”
“Stay as long as you wish,” he told her.
“A few more days, perhaps,” Grendel said.
He nodded, though he suspected that those days would turn into weeks, and then months.
Malem didn’t mind. If only for a chance to see those pretty thighs again.
He led his companions away toward the tents. The army parted.
“The emperor!” one among them shouted. “Clear the way for Emperor Malem, Breaker of Balors, Conqueror of Death, and Bringer of Great Loot!”
The army cheered. The soldiers repeatedly stamped their feet, or pounded their pikes into the ground, or clanged their swords against their shields. One word repeatedly left their lips:
“Loot! Loot! Loot!”
It made Malem smile that they were cheering for loot, rather than him. He didn’t blame them. After what they had been through, they deserved a few spoils.
He was definitely going to have to look into refilling his treasury, and soon.
But he would worry about that later.
He never did get to celebrate his victory by sleeping with one of his women every hour, as he had planned.
He was going to have to make up for lost time.
Thank you for reading!
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