After defeating Xavulak, they had met no further resistance nor seen any more of the drolnac. Evidently, the lesser fiends had no appetite to cross those who had proven mighty enough to defeat a demon lord.
They had followed a cavern in a direction that felt as though it was leading downward only to discover, to their surprise, a shaft of light filtering down from a narrow fissure overhead. With some difficulty, they were able to scale the first few paces of the rocky wall using outcrops and handholds. At that moment, Idrimel wished she had Nera’s agility, imagining the thief would be able to scurry up the wall without difficulty. The ascent became easier once the crevice narrowed, for Wyat showed her how to move upward by placing her back against one wall and legs against the other then scooting upward little by little. Her legs grew sore and her armor scuffed and surcoat torn by the time she made it to the top, but she was happy to be out into the light again.
And, to their surprise, they saw the Wall of Lost Souls stretching across the horizon perhaps a quarter-mile away.
“By Sol’s glory, we’ve survived the darkness, Wyat. Now, let us find Nera and the others!”
“Aye, that would be wonderful,” he agreed with a smile.
They started down a broken, rock-strewn slope toward the Wall. Within mere moments, as if it had become impatient with their slow approach, the Wall suddenly appeared before them as if the land in between had somehow shrunk. It was a malignant blight upon an already profane land. Many tortured souls were chained to the wall, left to serve penance for lives of sin.
Wyat glanced at her in concern, perhaps thinking she would be foolish enough to want to aid the damned. She couldn’t have blamed that thinking—however, after the episode with Jovas, she had learned a valuable lesson. As she had told Nera, she found it necessary to harden her heart.
Keeping her face resolute, she looked upon the damned without pity. “They serve their penance for lives of wickedness,” she told Wyat. “We cannot, nor should we, aid them.”
The big man seemed relieved. He stared long in each direction, stopping to examine the ground even. “I see no sign that they’ve been here. The ground is hard, and the dust swirls. Which way shall we go?”
“It is likely they came upon the Wall some other place, for it is said the Wall spans Achronia infinitely, and that one direction eventually leads to the other.”
Wyat frowned, puzzled by the paradox. “Do you have a spell that can guide us in the right direction?”
Idrimel considered, wondering if Sol would show her the way, if he could even see clearly within the Dark One’s demesne. She was prevented from answering when Wyat’s eyes abruptly widened as he stared past her shoulder.
“We must find a place to hide!”
She whirled and instantly saw the source of his concern. An inky blot cast against the dark red of a distant thunderhead was approaching from the sky, sailing easily on its great wings.
A quick glance around them revealed no cover for miles. The ground was open and flat. The volcanos and ridges of dried lava had disappeared in the distance. Even the fissure they had climbed from, she could no longer see.
The only source of cover was the Wall of Lost Souls. It stood one and a half times Idrimel’s height. The thought of cowering against the profane wall revolted her. Besides, she was reasonably certain they had already been spotted.
With a sigh, she drew her mace from her belt. “Let us stand together once again. If Sol wills it, we shall prevail.”
Wyat still carried Redeemer, which he held in both hands before him. Idrimel had bidden him keep it until he found another weapon or they were free of the Abyss.
The flying creature was still some distance away, and it was huge. The dark-scaled body shimmered and reflected the reds and oranges of the sky and ground as it flew, heading directly toward them. The wings beat occasionally, but it glided easily on the steady updrafts.
“A dragon?” Wyat said in awe. “The gods certainly seek to test our resolve, I’d say.”
Idrimel tried to recall what little she knew of dragons. So far as she knew, not even the evil ones resided in the Abyss. However, that was about to be proven wrong, she supposed.
“Ready yourself,” she said. “If it breathes upon us, we’ll likely have little defense.”
She was about to pray to Sol for a protection spell against energy when she spotted a tiny figure atop the dragon’s back. The person appeared to be waving at them.
The dragon dipped down, flaring its wings as it made to land before them. Its mighty hind legs extended and touched the ground while the wings beat to steady itself, sending up a blast of wind and dust that stung their eyes and forced them to avert their gaze.
“Idrimel! Wyat!”
When Idrimel could see again, she was astounded to see a familiar-looking figure slide down the dragon’s smooth flank and run to them. Not until the elf embraced her did she recognize Endira, with a bloody strip of cloth tied around her head. She quickly embraced Wyat in turn.
“Endira? What…” She didn’t know what to say. Wyat looked equally stunned.
“Perhaps you don’t recognize Arron,” the elf said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she gestured toward the dragon with a flourish that would make any bard proud.
“Arron? What are you talking about? Has he been magicked into a dragon?” Wyat looked from Endira to the dragon as if he couldn’t believe his senses.
“It is good to see you well, my friend!” The dragon’s voice rumbled much like boulders tumbling down a mountainside. “My memory difficulties yielded quite the surprise.” Arron’s head snaked toward them, green eyes gleaming, and Idrimel could’ve sworn the toothy maw stretched wide into a smile.
“By the gods!” Wyat tentatively reached out and touched the smooth scales along Arron’s head as if the dragon was an illusion.
Once Idrimel’s initial shock wore off, she took note of her friends’ conditions with concern. Endira clearly looked the worse for wear. In addition to the bloody rag around her head, she also had another strip of cloth tied around her hand. When Idrimel looked closer at Arron, she could see blood leaking onto the ground from a deep wound in the dragon’s belly.
“We had a difficult time of it,” Endira said grimly, seeing Idrimel scrutinizing their wounds.
“What of Nera and the others?” Arron rumbled. “We’ve found this thrice-cursed Wall—have they located the Engineer?”
“We lost them shortly after you and Endira did,” Wyat replied. “And we had our own difficulties along the way. We had hoped to find them, having just come across the Wall ourselves.”
“Climb onto my back, and we shall search together.” Arron’s talons carved deep grooves in the ground as he shifted his bulk impatiently.
“Hold on!” Idrimel said in a tone that brooked no argument. “You two are badly wounded—let me tend to you. Would be a tragedy if you made it all this way just to bleed to death.”
The dragon’s form abruptly blurred and shrank, shapechanging into the familiar form of the blond half-elf. The wound in his gut looked even worse now. His shoulder was also bloody and lacerated. He staggered and would’ve fallen had Wyat not caught him.
“Arron, you’ve overexerted yourself—we are among friends once more. Let Idrimel tend to you,” Endira urged.
“Aye, that’s not a bad idea,” Arron admitted with a sigh. “We won’t do Nera any good if we find her only to drop dead at her feet.”
Idrimel called out to Sol for his blessing. She reveled in the warmth of the healing magic coursing through her, more powerful from her renewed faith after her harrowing trial.
As she tended to her ailing friends, she couldn’t help but see their reunion as a sign from Sol.
Chapter 18
Ash rained from the sky, launched from the maws of the distant volcanoes forming the backdrop. A steep thimble-shaped protrusion of black stone thrust up from the ground perhaps a mile or so away. Other than the Wall, no other features of interest were distingui
shable.
Nera looked around with growing panic, but the Wall itself was blank save for the set of empty chains before them—not a single soul was chained to it anywhere in sight.
She glanced nervously over at the winged woman, but she had stepped away, arms crossed and regarding them silently but with obvious interest.
“He should be here… I know this is the place!” Panic edged Nera’s voice as she implored Malek to understand even as her gut knotted with fear.
Tell me this hasn’t been a damned fool’s quest!
However, her eyes revealed the truth before them. The Engineer was gone. Their quest was about to end in failure. Her mind raced as she tried to think, but she was unnerved by the impassive demoness’s silver eyes watching them.
Yosrick, sitting up, was looking around in confusion. Waresh scowled at the empty chains. Jannik and Rand looked between the demoness and Nera uneasily, knuckles turning white on their hilts, waiting to be told what to do next.
Malek was an isle of calm in the maelstrom of fear and worry swirling around her, and she silently thanked him for that. He stood beside her, taking in the scene quietly. After a few moments, he put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly.
“This can’t be—I know he was here! He was secured by those very chains, near death, covered in sores and open wounds. I don’t understand… Perhaps he escaped on his own, somehow.” She clutched at his forearm as if it was a lifeline thrown to prevent her from being swept away into madness.
“Easy,” Malek said. “There is something happening here that is not yet revealed to us. Look there.” He pointed up into the sky.
“Balor’s balls,” Nera whispered. “That was not in my vision.” She wondered what it meant.
A citadel built of a flat gray material, possibly iron, floated high overhead in the sky, a dark smudge against the backdrop of red clouds and crackling lightning. The castle was perched upon an island of earth and stone, the underside roughly formed, as if it had been torn from the ground and cast into the sky by some great magic. Light shone off the citadel eerily, giving the impression that the metal had been heated in a hellish forge. Several of the windows were illuminated with yellow lights.
“The Lord of Achronia resides there,” the demoness said. Though her face remained blank, she still seemed amused at their concern and confusion. “He will speak with you in time.”
She ignored any questions or further attempts at conversation, and Nera and the others were left to wait in frustration.
Nera’s heart hammered with trepidation as she wondered what the turn of events portended.
When it became apparent they would be waiting for some time, they sat on the dusty, stony ground in a huddle, having naught else to do but wait impatiently.
“Do you have any suggestions?” Nera asked Yosrick, eager for the gnome’s wisdom.
Yosrick’s face was still pale, but he was no longer in pain, thanks to Jannik’s healing. Slowly, he shook his head. “Nay, lass, I am at a loss right now. There’s naught we can do but wait, as Malek advised. My hope is that all will be revealed once this overlord speaks with us.”
“If he speaks and doesn’t chain our arses to that wall and torture us,” Waresh grumbled. He looked over at the demoness standing silent vigil and shuddered. “I bet that one would enjoy taking part in that a great deal.”
Nera clenched her fists. “How could I have been so wrong? I led everyone here on a damned vision!” She slammed her fist into the ground. The pain from sharp pebbles gouging her skin provided a welcome distraction, clearing her thoughts for a moment while she plucked the stones free.
“We believe you, Nera,” Rand said. “You’ve not led us astray yet.” He tried to smile at her, but it came out more like a grimace.
Aye, and so did all those other men that I led to their deaths, she thought grimly.
Fearing they would soon have a fight on their hands, she distributed her healing potions, urging them to drink so they might be as close to full strength as they could.
They quaffed the potions and waited anxiously, nobody having anything else to say. Waresh took a few long sips from his wineskin. Nera was of a mind to do the same when the demoness suddenly stirred from her statue-like vigil.
“The Lord of Achronia comes,” she announced.
They jumped to their feet, all eyes turned to the floating citadel. A dark shape detached itself and soared down toward them on wide black wings. The figure swooped down and landed a few paces away, wings stirring up a swirl of dust around them. A wave of fear washed over the companions, and Nera’s gut clenched, reminding her of the time she had stood before the Pale Lord.
“Father, the mortals, as you requested.” The demoness bowed respectfully and stepped near the other’s side.
“Neratiri, my daughter!” The figure stood before them with outstretched wings that appeared to be of a dull black metal. With a faint metallic scraping sound, the wings retracted behind his back. He stood over seven feet in height, powerfully built, and wore crimson robes embroidered with gold runes. His eyes shone like orange lanterns from a noble face, and his long white hair was tied neatly behind his head. He held a tall staff of black metal in one hand. “You have come to me at last.”
Nera had to do a double take. The wasted creature from her dreams looked nothing like this powerful man, yet he was the same, she realized after a moment.
“You have already met Nesnys, your half sister,” he said, but his words barely registered.
Surprise showed on Nesnys’s face at the revelation. She had evidently been kept in the dark about certain things as Nera had.
“Father? I’m confused… I thought you a prisoner here.” Nera stared at the duo before her, a sinking feeling in her stomach mixing with the aura of fear.
The Engineer smiled, his lantern eyes threatening to mesmerize her with his stare. She suddenly had the sensation of pressure in her head, as when the Pale Lord had tried to read her mind. “Your confusion, my dear daughter, is just as I intended. Long ago, I was a prisoner, true, but such bonds could not hold me for long. There has been a change of rule here in Achronia. With my daughter’s aid”—he gestured at Nesnys—“I overthrew the former ruler. Axoazihr now lies impaled upon the ground by a thousand spikes of Abyssal iron, his limbs chained with unbreakable bonds like those that once held me, while his body is torn apart and consumed by krabuk daily. He cannot regenerate enough to regain sufficient strength to even think of breaking free and challenging me. The legions of the Abyss are mine to command. And you have brought me just the device I need to return to Nexus.”
The Engineer’s mind withdrew from hers, and Nera felt that bizarre sense of feedback from the psionic connection. An awareness opened in her mind, but she couldn’t ponder that at the moment.
“Nera, I do not like where this is going,” Malek warned quietly.
Nera could feel Malek’s eyes on her, as well as those of her other companions regarding her with shock and confusion. “This was all a ploy? To get us here so you might return?” Her voice cracked from the sense of panic welling up within her.
“Indeed. It was my minions that sabotaged the Machine. Nobody else in all the multiverse has the knowledge to restore it to working order. I shall return to Nexus, crush my brother and his forces, and take my rightful rule. I will then fulfill my end of the bargain and open the Abyssal portals throughout the multiverse so my allies and servants can pillage and destroy as promised.”
“What of my role, Father?” asked the winged woman. “You gave me charge of the legions.”
“Indeed, my dear Nesnys. You shall be free to slake your thirst for blood and ravage the planes once we have destroyed the Architect’s pitiful forces.”
Nesnys bowed her head. The hungry look on her face reminded Nera of a serpent the moment before it swallows its prey.
Nera shuddered, sick to her stomach at the betrayal and ashamed for having been played for a fool. “No. I will not allow you to do that.
You will remain here.” Her hand stole into the pouch on her belt, where the Bracer of Fellraven was kept. The metal was hot, as if it had been sitting out under the sun for hours. She slipped her hand through the band, and her fingers slid into the sheaths.
“Is that so?” The Engineer regarded her in amusement. “I think not. I know not why your mother bothered hiding you from me—you are a pathetic thing, lacking the strength and courage of my other daughter.”
He caressed Nesnys’s cheek, and the other woman’s smile broadened to reveal a maw full of pointed teeth.
Crushing despair threatened to shatter the fragile mantle of courage Nera had been clinging to and send her crumpling to the ground, helpless. His words stung nearly as much as the betrayal.
How could I have been such a fool! We have failed, and all the planes shall pay the price!
“Don’t be too hard on yourself—I planned it this way. Granted, you are not without some resourcefulness, to have made it here alive.” The Engineer’s thoughts boomed in Nera’s skull, violating the sanctity of her own mind.
“’Twas easy once I made contact with you to discover what best motivated a sorry plane-cursed orphan—the knowledge of your heritage, of course,” he continued aloud. “That and the need for a parent’s approval.”
“Don’t listen to this monster, Nera,” Malek spoke up. He stepped up beside her. “We will leave now. Do not think to attack us, or we will retaliate,” he warned the Engineer.
“Amusing, mortal,” Nesnys growled. “Your group of rabble can barely stand from fatigue—you delude yourselves thinking you have any power to challenge us here. Yet I see that my sister cares for you. As such, I shall tear your heart from your breast while she watches.” She held up a hand, revealing sharp talons, and smiled her shark-toothed grin.
When Nera bristled, Malek held her arm. “Easy, a rash reaction is what she wants.”
The Engineer chuckled, a rich, charismatic laughter out of place issuing from such a monster. “My daughter has been craving the taste of mortal flesh for millennia. I daresay she won’t be denied any longer. And now, I shall take my leave. I have waited long enough to reclaim what is rightfully mine. Give me the bracer,” he commanded Nera.
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