by Jeff Gunzel
It pushed off, sending Jarlen skidding across the sand on his backside. With his warrior instincts chiming like the bells in his hair, Jarlen launched his feet up and over, completing a backward somersault just as three arrows pierced the sand in rapid succession. He rolled twice more, arrows thumping the ground while making a trail leading towards him. He rolled to his feet, slashing at the air just in time, shattering two arrows into splinters before they touched his flesh.
“What are they doing?! This isn’t fair!” Viola shrieked, thrashing about while Liam and Xavier tried to keep her still. Had the crowd not been cheering so loudly, she would have been making quite a scene. In truth, her shouts were mostly drowned out by the calls for blood. Few even noticed her thrashing at all. “What madness is this? This is not a competition—it’s an assassination. They’re trying to kill him!”
“Yes they are!” Liam shouted directly in her face, gripping her struggling wrists in each hand. She stopped struggling, her gaze turning vacant and cold. “This was never meant to be fair! This event was never anything more than a calculated murder disguised as entertainment for the rich. He was never meant to survive. Everyone here knew that. Even he knows that!”
She pulled her hands free of his grasp. “And you knew this the whole time?” she hissed. His silence was all the answer she needed. Without another word, she turned back to the sand pit. Even knowing what she was about to witness, she was still determined to keep her promise to the brother she never met. She would not leave or even look away. She owed him that much, at least.
Jarlen rolled across the sand, the shadow’s blade crashing down again and again while just missing his ankles. Springing back to his feet, he whirled back just as their steel collided in a three-strike combination, spraying sparks in the air. He half expected to take an arrow in the back, but the expected blast of pain never came. He realized at that moment that that was the key. As long as he stayed in proximity to the shadow creature, the archers wouldn’t release their arrows. Even upon understanding that fact, he still wasn’t convinced that staying close to this being was a better plan.
The shadow’s movements were so smooth that they became deceptive even to Jarlen’s trained eyes. Methodical blade strikes floated in, then exploded into ten-strike combos with ease. Having difficulty seeing the black blade, Jarlen’s blocks came almost completely on instinct. Never saying a word, not so much as a grunt or deep breath, the graceful shadow creature flowed in and out in silky movements. Jarlen’s blade worked furiously, almost purely on the defensive while chipping away perfectly placed strikes again and again. Never had he faced an opponent such as this.
Jarlen whirled around, turning a zipping arrow into splinters before turning back just in time to fend off another explosive flurry. It seemed like the archers were still taking shots, but only when they had him dead to rights. Jarlen’s arms began to burn; each block and parry took a considerable effort, while the shadow floated forward in fluid movements.
Jarlen had to take a chance. He couldn’t keep defending against this tireless creature while his own energy drained away by the second. Each successful block felt like parrying a heavy stone falling from twenty feet. The maximum effort involved was quickly taking a toll. Arms numbing, lungs burning for air, Jarlen lashed out with everything he had. Sword going high, he tensed for what was about to come, leaving his midsection wide open. The creature’s blade flashed across it like lightning. Liquid black flowed so smoothly, the fluid strike almost appeared slow to the naked eye. Jarlen’s weak high strike was dodged easily, the shadow’s head shifting slightly to the left. But that was as far as it could go...
Ignoring the fiery pain ripping across his stomach, Jarlen’s arm jetted straight out. Flesh hardening in the blink of an eye, the formed blade streaked right through the barred faceguard, shredding its metal before blasting out the other side. The stunned shadow’s body quivered, its limbs going limp as the black blade fell to the sand. Now the only thing still holding it upright, Jarlen ripped his arm free, allowing the body to fall.
The stunned crowd fell silent. Even the archers lowered their bows, not sure what to do next. They had been given no instruction as to what to do if the shadow fell. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Gripping the shallow but painful wound across his stomach, Jarlen stalked towards the fallen creature. Grimacing, red eyes blazing with white-hot fury, he kicked off the black helmet. These shadow warriors were not immortal, and he had just proven that to the world. Let these bloodthirsty humans set eyes on the dead flesh of this mysterious being.
The empty helmet bounced along the sand. In what seemed like a swarm of insects, a black haze funneled out from the headless armor. As the buzzing blackness flowed outward, the black cloth chainmail deflated. The swarm spun circles in the air, then mashed together to form a hovering, distorted face. In a silent roar, it opened its mouth before Jarlen’s face, its long teeth looking like smoky black daggers buzzing with insects. Displaying no reaction, zero emotion, Jarlen watched it with a blank stare. As fast as it had formed, the black mass disassembled into a buzzing black cloud, then blurred up and away until it was out of sight.
Furious, the king slammed his fist into the table next to his chair. It cracked, sending a pitcher tumbling over to shatter on the ground. Servants stepped back, not sure what the unpredictable king might do. How could that creature still be alive? He’d thrown the best he had at it, yet it was still standing. As fast as his temper had flared, the king suddenly turned around with utter calm and began whispering to Diovok. The shaman nodded and stepped forward, a subtle blue glow emanating from underneath his mask.
To the roar of thousands, Jarlen raised his hands triumphantly. No doubt this mob had certainly gotten their money’s worth. Viola jumped up and down, then turned back to leap into Liam’s arms. Her relief was beyond words. Somehow, someway, her brother had defied impossible odds and survived the rigged tournament. She stepped back, her gaze following Liam’s as he looked up at the sky. The clouds were blackening at an alarming rate. Like drops of milk dripped in black tea, they boiled and rolled in place with an unnatural, violent spin.
“What’s happening?” Viola asked. Glaring up at the angry sky, Liam grumbled something inaudible. He immediately recognized the summoning energies for what they were. The strands were shockingly powerful. Whoever was conjuring this much energy at once was clearly a dangerous and formidable mystic.
The stunned crowd looked up at the sky in shocked silence as the winds began to pick up. Gusting funnels scooped up sand from down below, spinning it around to form dancing dust devils. “What’s happening?” Viola repeated, more urgently this time. Her blowing hair snapping around, she grabbed her wig to keep it from flying away.
A glowing sphere opened across the floor of the sand pit, a silvery-white shimmering color. Jarlen grasped his sword and backed away from it. Suddenly, a stream of white bolts dropped down from the sky, twisting in and out of each other in a weaving spiral of glittery white. Striking the silvery hole, the bolts fanned outward, spidering along the sand like vines of pure energy. Blinding light streaked up from the hole, a flash of brilliance that caused all to cover their eyes.
Long, spidery, three-clawed hands crept up from the glimmering hole. Hard and ridged, they looked like animated tree branches come to life. A head with four horns peeked up, its single green eye shifting back and forth. Glistening with slimy wetness, its coarse skin seemed to be covered with some sort of jelly. A mouth filled with spiny teeth opened wide, releasing a deafening roar that shook the sand pit. The people watching covered their ears, dropping to their knees from the thunderous roar. Those that hadn’t been floored by the roar turned to run away altogether. This event had turned into pure chaos. This was getting out of control.
“Grankerling,” Owen gasped, rubbing his ringing ears. He had seen only one before in all his years of demon hunting. “Only a fool would think they could control that thing. We need to go, now!”
“No, we can’t leave hi
m!” Viola protested, gazing down at the emerging demon reaching up from the shimmering hole. One hand wrapping his wounded stomach, Jarlen continued to back away, dragging his blade along the sand with a weak grip. He was obviously in no condition to fight any longer. “He has no chance! We have to do something!”
“There is nothing we can do!” Liam shouted over the howling winds, grabbing at her hand to lead her away to safety. “There was never anything we could have done to help your brother. He is the property of Shadowfen. If the city has called for his head, then we are powerless against the forces that be.”
“You have to try!” Viola shrieked, ripping her hand free of his grasp. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gazed pleadingly into his eyes. “I’ve never seen this side to you,” she said quietly, wiping a sleeve across her cheek. The winds blew all around them. People were running in panic, yet she held his gaze as if he were the only thing in the world. “I’ve never seen you quit before. I’ve never seen you so afraid that you weren’t even willing to try.”
With a deep breath, Liam closed his eyes and gently pushed her aside. What could he possibly do against such a foul beast? Somehow, knowing he was powerless against it no longer seemed important. As irrational as it was, the fact that Viola had lost faith in him had hit him like a hammer. How deep were these doubts of hers? Did she also question his ability to keep her safe? Saving her brother was never a priority, yet somehow it had suddenly been placed at the top of the list. There was no plan, no way to deal with such a threat. Still, he needed to try.
Liam looked at Xavier. “If things go badly, you must get her out of here. I am counting on you to guard her with your life. Do you understand?” Xavier nodded, then hooked her arm and pulled her back a few steps.
Liam turned back, focusing on the monstrosity writhing up from the shimmering hole. Its thick, slimy tongue lashed about, covered with little bumps that seemed to move. The bumps screamed and cried, revealing themselves to be tiny heads, each with a pained expression. All crying at once, they sounded like babies wailing, shrieking. Their pitch-black eyes blinked as the trapped spirits howled in agony. Truly, this dark creature was the stuff of nightmares. How could such a perversion of nature even exist?
Liam thumped his staff on the ground once, twice, his eyes beginning to cloud up with a misty white fog. He could never match the power of such a demon. Any spell he cast would most likely just anger it. He growled a few guttural words, his staff thumping against the ground twice more. The eyes of the goat’s head began to shimmer a silvery white. “Orm thundra go ein droothra!” he boomed, slamming his staff down once more.
A glittery stream of silver streamed forth from the mouth of the goat’s head. Like a dancing serpent, it twisted through the air. The sparkling stream spun about three times, then streaked right towards the demon. Just before striking it, the glittering stream split into five separate strands. The strands of shining dust whipped around the silver hole several times before plunging straight down. Silver energy began to crackle along the sand, moving its way around the mouth of the hole.
Like a thunderclap, the portal snapped shut with a boom. As if it were a hot razor cutting through butter, it cut through the demon’s hard body, meeting no resistance. The creature’s head and a fair chunk of torso snapped in half. With a horrified expression frozen in time, the chunk of body bounced once, then burst into steaming black ash on the second bounce.
Enraged, Diovok scanned the fleeing crowd from the royal canopy. Who dared to halt his conjuration? And maybe, more importantly, who here had the strength to do such a thing? Needing to unleash his fury in some way, he waved his hand, unleashing the power in Jarlen’s collar.
Head snapping back, Jarlen dropped down to the sand, his body convulsing in paralyzing agony before falling unconscious. Viola watched as a pack of soldiers went running into the pit to grab his body. They dragged him across the sand back into one of the dark tunnels. He was certainly not in the best of shape, but he was alive. Liam had saved him!
“Now we go,” said Liam, leading the way. He stumbled more than once, weakened by the lingering effects of the high-level spell. Attacking the demon directly would have proved hopeless, but attacking the portal allowing it entrance into this world had worked rather nicely.
“Thank you,” came Viola’s soft voice from behind. Not turning back, he smiled to himself as he led her by the hand. He was reminded of an old lesson he had forgotten somewhere along the line: Sometimes it takes the strength of another to find the strength in yourself. Today, he had done something he didn’t even realize he was capable of. It felt good to know that even at his age, he could still surprise himself.
Chapter 11
Back at the inn that evening, they settled on a late supper of roast mutton and steamed vegetables. Exhausted from the long day, the group ate silently while pondering over what to do next. Their options were few. For now, hiding out in Shadowfen seemed to be working well enough. Because of the chaotic event this evening, the whole city was a restless buzz—not so great for the king, who was trying to maintain some semblance of order in the city, but perfect for anyone trying to hide in plain sight. With so much distraction, and so many outsiders still staying within the city limits, they were unlikely to draw much attention no matter where they went.
As for what to do about Jarlen, the topic was a gloomy one. Nobody wanted to bring it up anymore this evening. Sure, they may have kept him alive for another day, or even a few weeks, but sooner or later, the king would finish what he started. And it wouldn’t be something done secretly behind closed doors, either. Similar to this evening’s event, the deed would be done in public so the king could profit. In the end, there was nothing they could do to help him.
After a few grumblings from Owen assuring them that this would be the last night they would each have the luxury of having their own rooms, the group decided to retire for the evening. Tomorrow was a new day, and they still had much to discuss. How much longer did they plan to stay here in Shadowfen? And when the time came, where were they off to next? But for now, a good night’s sleep was the only medicine that would do any good.
Stretched out, Viola lay on her bed. Eyes wide open, she stared up at the ceiling as the day’s events played out in her overactive mind. She visualized Jarlen fighting for his life, each swing of his sword meaning the difference between living and dying. Reliving the horror in her mind, she watched helplessly as the shadow pressed his attack. Jarlen’s blade worked feverishly, parrying each strike with a thundering crash.
Black clouds boiled overhead. Jagged streaks of lightning cut the sky each time their blades collided. In a rush, the black clouds began to empty as driving rain came down in sheets. Blinking against the downpour, Viola shielded her eyes, trying to refocus her blurry vision on the battle before her.
All she could make out were two dark outlines, their blades far more visible than either combatant. White-hot swords danced through the air as driving rain sizzled against their blades. Sparks bloomed with each collision, casting off sprays of green and orange. Viola screamed, but her voice was powerless. Like screaming underwater, it had no carry, providing nothing but a bubbly echo in her own ears.
Lightning flashed, revealing the warriors for an instant. Jarlen was on his knees, sword up defensively as the shadow’s blade came crashing down. After a series of blinding lightning flashes, the chaotic scene plunged into darkness. Even the swords that were practically glowing moments before faded into the black of night.
A shadowy outline appeared from the darkness. Unable to move, unable to scream, she watched helplessly as the hulking figure approached. Hardly more than an outline of shifting darkness to her eyes, it raised a fist, holding something in its grip. Lightning flashed again, revealing the severed head of her brother held up by a handful of hair. Jarlen’s eyes opened suddenly. “This is your fault!” he hissed, blood bubbling from his lips with each word.
Viola sat up with a gasp, her heart racing, forehead beaded wi
th sweat. Breathing hard, she fell back on the bed and covered her face. When had she fallen asleep? She shivered, the final moment of that nightmare still vivid in her thoughts. But nightmare or not, his accusation rang true. What had she really done to help him? He was out there, alone, and here she was, sleeping in a soft, comfortable bed. I can’t just leave him out there. I have to do something!
After rolling from her bed, she gathered her clothes and even the sword Thatra had loaned her. There was no telling what she might run into. As prepared as she could be, Viola peeked her head into the hallway. As expected, no one was around. It was the middle of the night, after all, and all the patrons were sound asleep. Still, she tiptoed through the hall and down the stairs like a thief in the night.
Outside, the streets were barren, and most of the night lamps were extinguished, save for just a few to stave off the black of night. The empty streets looked strange at night, given how busy they were during the day. Small groups of night watchmen patrolled the streets, often moving about in groups of four or less. Not wanting to be questioned, Viola found herself ducking in and out of alleys to avoid being seen. Moving casually with no real cause for suspicion, the soldiers paid little attention to the alleys as they marched by.
Growing tired of the cat-and-mouse movements while trying to stay hidden, Viola leapt up from her hiding spot in the alley. Her blurring form of spinning blackbirds whirled up to a nearby rooftop. From up here, she could see the back gate, its winding path beyond leading out into the desert. Feeling a sense of urgency, she took off running, bounding her way from rooftop to rooftop. Using her extraordinary speed and agility, she made the most of the jumps with minimal effort. On a few occasions, she had to whirl back into her blackbird form to complete the distance. A short time later, she was standing on a rooftop right across from the gate.
Crouching down, she watched as soldiers marched back and forth on top of the wall. Even on the night shift there were more here than she’d hoped. Luckily, they seemed to be following a predetermined marching pattern. The spacing between men was all the same, and they all moved at the same speed before stopping, then turning to march back the other way. Timing their routes proved easy enough.
