“Down!” Bastard said one last time.
The heavy platforms came down flush with the ground. Deothen kept worming ahead until his armor wedged stuck between the earth and the platform above. He was almost close enough to strike out at Bastard. He might die here, but he was determined to have one last chance to take the warforged leader with him.
Deothen lashed out with his sword at Bastard’s feet, swinging the blade flat and true through the final inches of space left to him as his armor began to give.
“Sallah!” he cried with his final breath.
Bastard stepped backward out of the knight’s reach. The platforms came down within bare inches of the ground beneath them. Blood spurted from Deothen’s mouth and everything went black.
High above, the airship had stopped bumping around. As Esprë fought to regain control of the ship’s wheel, she saw Te’oma slip her hands from the leather safety straps and walk across the bridge to deal with Xalt.
“You’re tenacious,” the changeling said to the warforged. “I never see most of my victims again.”
She reached out with her foot and kicked the artificer’s hand that clutched the edge of the ship’s deck. Xalt cried out in pain.
“Is it because you’re a warforged?” Te’oma asked. “Are your kind harder to kill?”
She ground her boot down on the Xalt’s fingers, then stomped down on them again. The warforged shouted in agony.
“You are durable,” Te’oma said. As she spoke, she drew her black knife and got on one knee next to where the artificer’s battered fingers still clung to the airship’s bridge.
“No!” Esprë screamed. She had had enough. She grabbed the airship’s wheel and gave the elemental trapped in the ring of fire a nudge. The ship lurched forward.
The changeling howled as she pitched over the aft of the ship. Her black knife tumbled from her hand and spun end-over-end down to the arena floor. Te’oma reached and grabbed at the edge of the shattered railing. The tips of her fingers latched on the last spindle there.
“Don’t do this!” Te’oma shouted at Esprë.
“Drop him!” Sallah yelled from below.
Hope leaped in Esprë’s chest at the sound of the lady knight’s voice. Then, when she heard her stepfather speak, that hope grew tenfold.
“Drop Brendis!” Kandler said. “We’ll catch him!”
“I won’t let you kill him!” Esprë shouted at Te’oma from the wheel. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. Over the past few weeks, she’d seen more than enough death. She couldn’t let the changeling hurt anyone else again. She still remembered the look on the warforged’s face when the black knife had slipped into his back, and she was ready to do everything she could to stop anything like that from happening again.
The ship bounced just a bit into the air, and Esprë heard something crash to the floor below. Kandler cried out in pain.
“To stop me, you’ll have to kill me,” the changeling said. “And you’re no killer. You’re—No!”
The railing from which Te’oma hung cracked and gave way. The changeling cascaded back from the airship, the spindle she’d been clutching still in her hand.
“No!” Esprë screamed as Te’oma fell out of sight. She let go of the airship’s wheel, stretching out her hands in a feeble hope of somehow being able to stop it.
The warforged reached up and pulled himself up onto the bridge. Still on his belly, he scrambled across the deck to where Esprë knelt, crying into her hands. He reached out and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“No,” Esprë said between sobs. “Did—did you do that? Pull her off the ship?”
The warforged hesitated, then nodded slowly. Esprë felt a terrible mixture of hatred and gratitude toward the warforged. She reached out to hold him and wept into his arms.
“Don’t cry for me, little one,” Te’oma’s voice said from above.
Esprë uncovered her eyes, and she and the warforged looked up to see the changeling hovering over the edge of the bridge on her bat-winged cloak. The girl gasped. The warforged scrambled up and put his arm around her shoulders and their backs to the bridge’s console.
The changeling glared at the warforged. “Now,” she said, “where were we?”
The warforged stood between Esprë and the changeling. “I will not allow you to harm this child,” he said, his raspy voice trembling with emotion.
Te’oma threw back her head and laughed. She executed a sharp loop with her batwinged cloak and came back to where she’d been before. “You silly suit of armor,” she said. “She’s never been in any danger from me.”
The changeling’s smile faded from her thin, white lips. Esprë shuddered at the sight.
“You, though …” Te’oma said. “What’s your name?”
“I am called Xalt.”
“Well, Xalt, your time is now.”
Xalt reached back to squeeze Esprë’s shoulder and then sprinted toward the edge of the bridge. When he reached the damaged railing, he leaped into the air, pushing off hard, and spread his arms wide like a bird of prey soaring down out of the sky at a hapless meal.
Xalt smashed into Te’oma and wrapped his arms around the hovering changeling. Te’oma screeched with frustration and clawed at the warforged’s back, but he refused to let go, and the pair plummeted to the arena floor like a meteor from the Mournland’s gray sky.
Burch pulled himself out from under the wreckage of the wall that he’d been standing on when the enraged titan knocked it down. The titan lay shattered around him. The creature had pushed though the wall and over the platform beyond to cascade over the city’s edge and onto the ground beyond.
As Burch tried to stand, the titan stirred. It raised its head to look around and spotted the shifter. It tried to reach out and grab him with its arm, but it only flailed a splintered stump at him instead.
Burch kicked the titan’s head, which hurt his foot more than the creature. As the shifter stood over the creature and pondered what he should do, a ballista bolt slammed into the titan’s chest, and the thing fell still.
Burch looked up and saw the ballista crew that had missed him cursing at each other as they hurried to reload the weapon again. This close to the arena, most of the stations along the edge of the city had been abandoned after the stampede away from the fire, but the warforged staffing this ballista seemed more determined than most.
Burch retrieved his crossbow from the wreckage and checked its action. Despite the wild ride and final crash, the weapon still worked. He slammed a bolt into it and glanced up to see the loaded ballista pointed straight at him. He dove left, and the bolt impaled the spot where he’d stood. He took a deep breath, aimed, and loosed a bolt of his own, and one of the warforged staffing the large weapon keeled over with Burch’s missile sticking out of its face.
Burch dashed toward the ballista mount as he reloaded his crossbow. The warforged at the ballista spun the winch and shoved another of the massive bolts into place. They tried to train the weapon on the shifter then, but the bolt went wild above his head.
Stopping long enough to get a good aim, Burch planted another bolt in the chest of the warforged working the weapon’s winch, and the two creatures still standing decided to flee. A quick reload, and the shifter shot one of them down as he fled. The fourth keep low as he sprinted away and disappeared around the nearest building before Burch even reached the city’s side.
The shifter noticed that the city had stopped moving and seemed to be much lower than before. He reslung his crossbow over his back and pulled himself up into the city, right beneath the empty ballista’s mount.
Burch looked up and down the city platforms. In the distance he saw lots of warforged scurrying about. As he watched, another ballista bolt from that area sailed over his head and struck the arena wall far behind him. The shifter ducked behind the nearby ballista mount and tried to think of a plan. As he sat there, he heard a horse whinny in fear. Burch looked ov
er the platform’s edge. Not twenty feet away, four horses were tied to a hitching post. Probably mounts for the ballista crew.
The shifter smiled.
Kandler cheered as he saw Xalt tackle Te’oma out of the air and drag her like an anchor to the arena floor. The pair landed hard, but Te’oma managed to twist her way atop the artificier before they struck the ground. The force of the landing tore Xalt’s arms from the changeling, setting her free. She rolled off the warforged and staggered to her feet, still stunned from the fall.
Xalt reached out and grabbed one of Te’oma’s feet with his good hand. His fingers closed around her ankle like a vise. The changeling snarled and stomped at his hand with her free foot. Once did nothing, so she kept at it. He grunted with each blow but refused to let her go.
“Hey!” Kandler said as he stepped up to the changeling.
Te’oma looked up and Kandler backhanded her. She would have gone flying backward but for Xalt’s grasp still anchoring her to the floor. Still, she stumbled, and her hand shot to the sheathe tied around her calf. Too late, she remembered she had dropped her knife off the back of the airship.
Kandler dove down at the changeling and grabbed her wrists. An instant later, a sharp bolt of pain stabbed into his mind. The justicar’s head snapped back as he battled the alien thoughts. She laughed as he thrashed about, trying to force her out of his mind.
Kandler fought through the static the changeling forced into his brain. He looked down at her and saw her face grinning up at him, laughing with delight at the pain lancing through his skull. He thought of everything this creature had done to his daughter, how she kept coming back to threaten them again and again. As he did, his rage worked its way out of his heart and into his head. His fury at her focused his mind on a single, burning desire, and he put everything he had left into making that wish come true. Kandler hurled himself forward and smashed his forehead into the bridge of the changeling’s nose. Blood spurted from her face, and she fell limp in the justicar’s grasp.
As Kandler and Xalt struggled with the changeling, Sallah cradled the unconscious Brendis in her arms.
“You can’t go to the Flame yet, my brother,” she said as she placed her hands on either side of his head. He was so pale that the blood on his face almost seemed to glow red.
“May the Silver Flame reignite the fire that burns within you,” Sallah said, enunciating each word. “May it commend you into the arms of the world so that you may continue to serve its sacred cause.” Her hands began to glow with a warm, silvery light. “And may it light your way throughout your life.”
The glow ran from Sallah’s hands until it covered Brendis from head to toe. It intensified for a moment, growing so bright that Sallah had to close her eyes, then it faded away in a heartbeat’s space.
Brendis’s eyes opened as he gasped in a chestful of air. He tried to sit up but fell back just as fast, and Sallah caught him in her arms again.
“It’s all right,” she said as she brushed the hair from his face. “You’re alive.”
As the words left her mouth, her eyes flicked over to the hole the airship had burned through the floor of the arena. There in the center, untouched by the flames, stood Bastard.
Sallah lay Brendis down on the arena’s floor. As she stood, he tried to rise to join her, but he could barely move.
“Rest,” she said. “If I fall, you’ll need your strength.”
Sallah watched as Bastard leaped over the flames and walked toward her.
“To avenge your death?” Brendis asked the lady knight.
“No,” Sallah said. She drew her sword, and the blade burst into silvery flames once again. “To run.”
Bastard cackled as Sallah strode toward him, her sword flashing with tongues of silver flame. “The daughter comes to avenge her father,” he said. “How very human.”
Sallah held her sword before her at the ready. “I’m not here for revenge,” she said. “Just for your head.”
Bastard raised his golden horn to his lips and started to speak, but Sallah raced forward and slashed at the instrument. The tip of her sword sliced off Bastard’s thumb and sent the horn spiraling away through the air.
Bastard took several steps back and glared at her.
“Surrender, and I will spare your life,” Sallah said. “I do not wish to fight a weaponless foe.”
“I have heard tales of the arrogance of the Knights of the Silver Flame, straight from the lips of the Lord of Blades. I laughed them off. I told my lord that it was impossible for such a feared people to be so foolish.” The warforged glared at Sallah. “I should never have doubted the word of my lord.”
“You refuse then?” Sallah said, holding her sword before her.
“You smug, little bag of bones,” Bastard said. “I don’t need a weapon. I am a weapon!”
The warforged lowered his shoulder and charged straight at her. He was on her before she could bring her blade to bear. She turned away at the last second, but it was too late. Bastard slammed into Sallah with both of his forearms. The spikes that ran along them punched clear through into her upper arm. She cried out and fell back on the ground.
Sallah scrambled to her feet and away from the warforged, leading him away from the others. Kandler and Xalt were occupied with Te’oma, and Brendis was in no condition to do more than be stomped to death beneath Bastard’s spiked feet.
Sallah’s blood dripping down the warforged’s shoulder, he stalked after her. “You’re as much a fool as your father,” he said. “You should flee for your life.”
Sallah stopped and stood her ground. She flexed her injured shoulder, as much to show the warforged that he hadn’t maimed her as to assure herself. She waved her blazing sword in front of her, daring the creature to attempt another attack.
“May the light of the Silver Flame shine on my efforts today,” Sallah said. As she said the words, she felt the power of her faith refresh her, and the distracting pain of her wound sloughed away.
“May you rot forever in utter darkness,” Bastard said and lunged.
Sallah slashed with her sword, but the warforged parried the blow with its forearm then swung a spiked fist at the lady knight’s head. Sallah ducked beneath the attack and spun off to her left, away from the direction of Bastard’s momentum. As she did, she reached out with her bare hand, grabbed one of the spikes along the crest of the warforged’s back, and stabbed at his back. Bastard twisted to the side, and her blow glanced off his spikes.
The warforged leader swung his arm back at Sallah and hammered at her with a flying punch. The blow landed square in her stomach and doubled her over. She retched as she spun away, splashing the contents of her last meal across the warforged’s chest. Bastard recoiled at the vomit and wiped it from itself as best it could.
“I don’t think I could describe how revolting this is,” the warforged said. “It’s disgusting enough that you breathers stuff your faces with once-living things. To have it spilled on my plates—there is no worse insult for my kind.”
Sallah wiped the last of the vomit from her mouth and flicked it at the creature. It landed on his face. “Glad to oblige,” she said.
“At least your father died with some dignity,” Bastard said as he used his thick fingers to wipe his features clean. His sapphire eyes sparkled with anger. “Being crushed to death beneath the city may be a messy way to go, but at least he was considerate enough to expire away from me.”
Sallah’s jaw fell open, and she gaped at the creature and then at the arena floor. Her father, who had mentored her as a follower of the Silver Flame her entire life, who had trained her as a knight, who had loved her as no other, lay dead somewhere beneath her feet. She shook her head, wanting to believe it was a lie. Fat, hot tears rolled out of her green eyes and down her flushed cheeks. Bastard threw back his head and laughed.
Righteous fury swelled in her and she charged, raining blow after blow down on Bastard until her arms ached with the effort. The creature fell back before th
e knight’s onslaught, unable to do more than raise his arms to cover his face. Most of the blows glanced off Bastard’s spikes. Some made it through to pound against the creature’s thick, tight-fitted plates. Few did him any real hurt.
Sallah was panting hard and fast. Striking aside another blow, Bastard reached out with an armored hand and shoved her in the chest. She stumbled backward, tripped over her own tired feet and fell.
Bastard looked past her. “We must finish this game now,” he said. “I prefer to fight you breathers one at a time.”
Sallah glanced back to see Kandler sprinting in her direction, but she knew he would reach her too late. She needed to do something now.
Bastard stomped toward her and she scuttled away from him on her backside. She was trapped, and she knew it. If she tried to reach her feet, the warforged would kill her. If she stopped to fight him, he would kill her. She thought about throwing her sword, but she knew is would be a pointless gesture.
“You cannot escape,” Bastard hissed as he dove at her.
Desperate to take the creature with her, Sallah jammed the pommel of her sword into the floor and pointed the tip upward at Bastard’s belly. The blade punched past the creature’s armored plates and stabbed clean through his body. For an instant, Sallah was surprised at how soft Bastard’s insides seemed to be once the sword punctured his shell, then the warforged fell on her with his full weight, slamming his spiked elbows into her chest. They stabbed through her unprotected flesh, and she felt bone break.
Bastard howled in agony and anger. Dark fluid spurted from his wound soaking them both. As her consciousness began to fall away, Sallah’s smelled something coppery and wet. She didn’t know if it was Bastard’s blood or her own.
Sallah!” Kandler screamed as he charged across the arena floor toward Bastard and the fallen knight. He’d thought his head might explode while Te’oma was probing in it, but now he felt like it might happen on its own. He’d come to respect Sallah over the course of their travels, even if he could never understand her devotion to her deity, and after his daughter he wanted to lose her the least of all. He roared in horror as the warforged stabbed the woman with its spikes again.
Marked for Death: The Lost Mark, Book 1 Page 32
