“Do something!” Nera cried. She started back toward Wyat’s position, ignoring Malek and Idrimel’s calls for her to stay with them.
“Arron! Lumley! Fall back, mates!” Wyat bellowed.
The fighting was fierce beside the edge of the chasm. Pollard spun around, his throat torn out, and toppled into the fissure. One laksaar, then two more, fell from Lumley’s sure strikes, the fiends howling as they plummeted out of sight. The sergeant urged Rand to retreat, cutting another down. Jannik fell back, calling to Arron.
Nera screamed when a pair of laksaar leaped on Arron simultaneously. He ran one through with his short sword to the gut, but its claws tore at him, forcing him back a step. A second one hit him from the side, biting onto his sword arm, and he wobbled at the brink of the chasm.
Endira, Nera was shocked to see, had remained behind with the warriors. Her arms had lengthened into blades, and she stabbed the demon clamped onto Arron’s arm. She tried instinctively to grasp Arron to pull him away but didn’t have time to morph her arm back to normal. Just then, a third demon shouldered into Endira, sending the whole group over the side of the rift.
“Nooo!” Nera started to race forward, but Wyat scooped her up by the waist in his strong arms. “Let me go!” She fought to free herself, but the big man held her as easily as a squalling child.
“Get her to safety, Wyat,” Yosrick said. “We’ll hold them.”
Waresh nodded grimly, the gleam of battle rage already in his eyes, his knuckles white around the haft of his axe.
Looking over Wyat’s shoulder, she watched the pair plant themselves at the pinnacle of the land bridge, shoulder to shoulder. Lumley, Rand, and Jannik were running toward the bridge, laksaar snapping at their heels.
“Wyat, no! Drop me, you bastard!” She pounded the big man’s breastplate with her fists, but her fury quickly turned to anguish, tears burning her eyes as, in her mind, she saw Arron and Endira go over the side again.
The warrior’s face was filled with sorrow, but he kept running, carrying her all the way across the land bridge. He set her down, and Malek grabbed her arm, steadying her as she nearly collapsed.
“I’m sorry, lass. It was Arron’s wish to see you safe no matter the cost.” Wyat turned to watch the others, taking a moment to catch his breath.
Nera cursed, knowing the situation was spiraling out of control. She looked up to see Idrimel going back onto the bridge. Lumley, Rand, and Jannik made it past Waresh and Yosrick. The pair swiftly dispatched the first handful of laksaar who had been pursuing the soldiers. Xavulak was advancing, and the remaining laksaar kept pace with the vezarun, as if called to heel like monstrous hounds.
The priestess called out to Waresh and Yosrick. The pair turned and exchanged words before running back across the bridge. Yosrick stopped to clasp Idrimel’s hand before rejoining the rest of the group by Nera.
Idrimel was standing alone atop the bridge. “Nera, you must get to the Wall of Lost Souls and free the Engineer—that is paramount.” Her melodic voice rang out clear and confident over the wails and howls of the swarming demons. “That is your fate, and this is mine.”
The horde of fiends snarled and paused at the foot of the bridge, unsure whether to proceed. Once Xavulak roared a command in the fell speech, they swarmed onto the bridge.
“You shall go no further, filth!” Idrimel raised her holy symbol, and it blazed with pure white light in her hand.
The laksaar balked, but the vezarun bellowed again, and they resumed their charge, clearly more afraid of their overlord’s wrath than they were of the priestess and her holy symbol.
“What is she doing?” Wyat asked, face distressed as if he already knew. “No, she can’t!”
“Almighty Sol, I beseech you—cleanse the multiverse of this filth!” A moment later, a huge pillar of white fire roared down from the heavens, engulfing Idrimel. Nera was blinded by the brilliance.
She was distantly aware of Wyat rushing past her, shouting Idrimel’s name. A blast of heat rushed over them, and a thunderclap sounded, momentarily stunning Nera. The ground trembled, and they were knocked off their feet.
Moments later, when Nera recovered her senses, she saw that the land bridge was no more. The fiends were gone.
But so were Idrimel and Wyat.
Chapter 12
Arron’s stomach lurched as he fell over the edge into the chasm, a crush of demons clinging to him. He kicked at the fiend on his sword, and it finally slid off. The one biting his arm opened its maw to howl in dismay. Arron bashed it with the hilt of his dagger between its eyes, and it fell away from him.
However, something still grasped him. He twisted to get free and found himself face to face with Endira.
Horrified at finding the elf grasping his shoulder, he knew they both were about to fall to their deaths. “Endira! What… No!”
“Be still,” she said. “Lower your weapons.” Her hair billowed around her face from the rushing wind as they fell, but her face was calm, deep-green eyes intense.
Arron complied, trying to relax, knowing his body could be crushed to pulp on an outcrop or whatever lay at the bottom at any second. He lowered his sword and dagger, and Endira slid her arm around his waist, holding him close, hip-to-hip, as if they were set to begin a strange dance.
A nimbus of yellow energy glowed around Endira’s head, and she closed her eyes. After a moment, he felt their descent slow dramatically.
“Is there someplace we can set down?” she asked.
His sharp eyes soon spotted a series of caves in the side of the chasm a ways below them. “Down there.” He pointed.
Endira opened her eyes and saw where he indicated. She nodded, and they began to drift in that direction as if guided by a gentle hand.
The network of caves were interconnected by rope ladders and bridges. When they set foot gently on the lip of one of the larger caves, he saw the remains of one of the laksaar splattered on the stone. He was horrified to find Pollard impaled upon a sharpened post securing one of the bridges.
The ladders and bridges were fashioned out of bones, strung together with a pink rope. A closer look revealed it to be some type of sinew.
Endira suddenly sagged against him, and he instinctively caught her.
“The fatigue should pass in a moment,” she said.
Arron looked around for a place they could rest. His eyes probed the darkness of the cave before them. Something suddenly shot out of the cave, and he just barely managed to duck in time. Another object, a stone, struck Endira in the head, and she crumpled. Then another stone hit Arron square in the chest. His breastplate softened the blow, but he staggered, off balance as he tried to ease Endira to the ground and defend them.
He had barely turned to fight when a spiny net enveloped him, small barbs digging into his skin as it was cinched tight. He was yanked off his feet and struck the ground, arms pinned to his sides. Scaled shapes swarmed around him, and then he was clubbed into unconsciousness.
***
Relief filled Idrimel as if a cleansing font of holy water had been poured upon her, her faith restored as Sol granted her prayer. She had seriously begun to doubt the strength of her faith when she had been unable to fully heal Tomlin back in Cymrych.
Her spell’s holy fire erupted, a pillar of flame descending from the heavens and enveloping her, the bridge, and the fiends. The nearest laksaar were burned to ash. The bridge trembled and collapsed, the ground disintegrating beneath her feet, but she barely noticed, lost in the rapture of her spell. Sol’s power coursed through her, although still somewhat diminished by the Abyss’s fell nature.
“Idrimel!”
The voice reached her ears, distracting her even as she began to fall into the dark chasm. She turned over in the air, seeing Wyat several paces out on the bridge. He had shielded his gaze from the brilliance but was obviously distraught by her sacrifice. He clearly realized his mistake as the ground gave way beneath him, for he tried to leap back to safety but was too late.
The warrior tumbled into the chasm with the collapsing rubble.
Foul, stinking air buffeted Idrimel as she fell. A demon splattered on an outcrop of stone off to her left. Stone rained down around her, but she could see nothing but Wyat, arms waving and a cry on his lips, although she couldn’t hear him.
This was not your time to die, my friend, she thought sadly. A moment later, she realized her time had not yet come either. A sign from Sol! This man needs my help.
His life was in her hands, and she had the means to save him.
Another prayer came quickly to her lips. White, feathery wings sprouted from her back. After a few rapid beats, her descent was halted. She soared off in the direction she’d last seen the warrior.
There! Wyat was tumbling into the depths, quickly outdistancing her. Idrimel focused on him, and the wings beat fiercely then folded behind her as she propelled herself into a steep dive, swiftly streaking toward Wyat. She reached out and grasped him by one hand, pulling him into an embrace. His eyes were wide as he regarded her. Her wings snapped out, beating the air fiercely to stop their descent.
“Idrimel—”
“Fear not—I have you.”
Already, she could feel the spell wearing off, much sooner than it should. They’d never be able to make it back to the top, which was now just a slim crack of red light in the distance above.
“The spell wears off,” she said. “I must find a place to set us down.”
She looked around, eyes scanning the craggy sides of the chasm, but they were sheer, save for a few small outcrops, which would only give them a momentary reprieve from the inevitable.
“There!” Wyat pointed over her shoulder.
Idrimel spun in the air, wings furiously pumping as she soared in the direction he indicated. Across the chasm and about twenty paces above them yawned the mouth of a cave. She grimaced as they approached slowly, Wyat’s extra weight straining the spell’s ability to lift them. The magic was quickly dissipating, and she fought to hold onto it.
Ten paces, then five. Her face beaded with sweat as she concentrated on the lip of the cavern. The feathered wings beat powerfully, but they rose ever so slowly.
“I’m losing the spell. Try to grasp the edge.” She loosened her grip on Wyat.
The edge of the cavern floor was two paces away when the spell ended. The beating wings curled up and disappeared.
At the last moment, she sought to throw him across the gap. He was too heavy, nearly of a size and weight with Athyzon, but she succeeded in propelling him a slight bit before her momentum was gone and she started to fall.
However, her effort was just enough. Wyat’s hands grasped at the stony lip, and he slid backward, catching on by the fingertips. Idrimel didn’t try to catch onto him, knowing she’d drag him to his death with her added weight.
His strong hand seized her wrist at the last moment. Somehow, the big man was hanging by one hand. As he held her, she saw he’d managed to wedge the toe of one boot into a small crevice in the rock.
Muscles bulged beneath his mail as he lifted her up to him one-handed. His face was red with the strain. “Climb over me.”
Idrimel gripped his shoulder and pulled herself up. A slight outcrop gave her a foothold, and she pushed off, grabbing onto the lip and pulling herself over. Wyat’s grip was slipping, but she grasped his wrist in both hands. She heaved with her legs and back, straightening up and pulling him over the edge.
The two of them collapsed on the ground, exhausted.
“You saved me,” he murmured quietly. His eyes met hers.
“What were you thinking! You were to see Nera through to the end,” she scolded, but the look on his face stole any real anger she might’ve felt.
“I saw them coming… I couldn’t watch them slaughter you right there before us… How was I to know you meant to sacrifice yourself?” His face was pained. “Why did you?”
Idrimel sighed and patted his hand. “What’s done is done. Sol directs me as he wills. But it appears he wishes me to continue my service for a while longer.”
“Perhaps he wants us to be together.” Wyat’s voice was earnest.
She felt her face go hot and looked away from him.
Wyat seemed to realize what he was suggesting and cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to imply…”
“No, you are right. This is Sol’s will.” She looked around, anxious to put the awkward moment behind them.
“Let us see where he has led us, shall we?” Wyat got to his feet and offered her his hand.
She accepted, and he helped her up.
The light of the surface was merely a narrow red gash far overhead. They were alone, their friends seemingly another world away.
***
Xavulak watched his prey escape him once again. The celestial-blooded one entered the cavern far below with the human warrior. The fool Jovas had spoken truly when he said Xavulak would be pleased at his find. Although the woman was not a true celestial, he could feel the blood was strong in that one. Xavulak was furious at the pitiful wizard’s inability to keep the mortals comatose as he had many times in the past, thus leading him on this arduous chase.
His talons dug into the stone as he climbed down the cliffside from where he had caught onto an outcrop of rock. His wounds ached horribly from the burns caused by the priestess’s holy fire. Her purity shone like the most valuable gem imaginable in the darkness of the Abyss. She was a spark of light he desired to possess and extinguish more than anything.
But Xavulak was patient, as only one who had existed for millennia could be. Soon the chase would come to an end and, with it, the lives of the priestess and her companion.
Chapter 13
“Damn you, I won’t leave without at least trying to find them.” Nera glared at Malek and then Yosrick in turn.
Waresh, Lumley, Jannik, and Rand sat quietly a short distance away, clearly uncomfortable with the heated exchange. Jannik had checked their wounds, but none of the survivors had taken more than slight injuries. They took advantage of the opportunity to rest and eat their rations.
“Nera,” Malek said softly, touching her arm.
“Say no more!” she snapped.
“We all knew the risks coming here,” the mage said. “They recognized the importance of your quest—we must free this Engineer and try to save Nexus. That is paramount. All of us are expendable, save you.”
“Nay, I don’t want to hear any more about how damned important I am, that the gods have Chosen me, nor any of that shite! I just lost a brother and three friends to this madness!”
“You’ll lose much more if we don’t do what we came here for, lass,” Yosrick said gently.
They had traveled a short distance from where Idrimel had destroyed the stone bridge and the pursuing demons with it. Try as they might, they could see no sign of any of their companions lost in the chasm, nor were there any paths down.
Nera cursed and angrily kicked a stone away. Though Malek and Yosrick spoke sense, she was infuriated at the feeling of helplessness and by their overprotectiveness, shielding her from combat as much as possible.
I could’ve made a difference in that battle. Arron and Endira could’ve been saved. It might not have come down to having Idrimel sacrifice herself and collapsing the bridge. And that lout Wyat wouldn’t have acted so damn foolishly.
When she had cooled down, she returned and sat down beside Malek. “Very well, let’s rest here for a short time before we continue.”
Looking at their weary faces, she was alarmed at how quickly their group was dwindling, and they hadn’t even reached the Wall of Lost Souls yet. However, the terrain was looking much as it had in her vision. She assumed they must be getting close to Achronia if they hadn’t already reached its outskirts.
***
Arron shuddered back to consciousness. He tried to sit up and draw a deep breath, but pain tore through him. Memory came rushing back as he noted the spiny net tearing a hundred small gashes where it p
ierced his skin around his armor pieces. He forced himself to calm down and took in his surroundings.
When he saw where he was, his eyes widened in horror, and panic threatened to override his fragile calm. He was lying trussed up in some hellish charnel house.
The wall of the cavern was a depraved artist’s canvas of slain and mutilated creatures. Humans, elves, dwarves, orcs, mixed races, and many creatures he couldn’t begin to name were hung upon the wall, either whole or parts thereof.
Near Arron, the severed head of a helmeted warrior was locked in a grimace of horror. Displayed beside the head were arms of different humanoids, one perhaps from a giant, the gray skin looking as though hewn from a block of granite. The carapace of some insect formed the body, and the legs were backward jointed and covered in shaggy brown fur like those of some deer-like creature. The sticky floor beneath him was stained black from blood and ichor.
When he was finally able to pry his eyes from the horror, he was thankful to find Endira still unconscious. His heart skipped a beat when he realized she might be dead. He struggled to shift himself over, grimacing against the pain of the barbs, until he lay beside her. A clump of blood stained the side of the elf’s head, but he was relieved to find she still drew breath.
On the other side of Endira lay the corpse of Wyat’s man, Pollard. A loop of bloody intestine hung from a ragged hole in his abdomen, and brains leaked from his crushed skull.
Arron’s attention was drawn by a raucous yapping sound. Two tiny demons, which he took for small dogs at first, raced into the cave with a clattering sound. He realized their feet were actually small cloven hooves and their faces a bizarre cross between a dog and a monkey. Their beady black eyes glinted with malice, and sharp needle-like teeth filled their maws. They yawped and growled, sniffing around the prisoners. He kicked at one when it sniffed at his foot.
The thing snarled and backed away.
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