Thrall

by Steven Shrewsbury

  Her eyes streamed rivers of tears. “Lord La Gaul, you are dying.”

  He gripped her by the shoulders, steadying himself. “Sister…Kayla, we’re all dying. Get down there and destroy the damned jewels. I can’t.”

  “How can I break a jewel?”

  Gorias squeezed his sword in her hand. “It’s made out of stern stuff, girl. You have to be as well, so be strong for me. It can do it. You can do it. Now go.” He then looked to Ezran Gavreel, as did Kayla, He saw her stunned expression when another persona just like Ezran stepped out from behind him—no, she gaped over the fact that he’d divided into two beings!

  “Go!” He shoved her and disengaged his swords again. “Deliverance shall come.”

  After those words, he ran with great energy and leapt onto the back of the Draco-Lich. Kayla slithered down the hole past the shifting leg of the monster. Gorias took a few halting steps on the creature and found the joint in the spine where the wings connected. His legs slid down, straddling the shifting monster. Thighs tight, head pounding, he dug in where no plates lay, the serrated edges of his leggings digging ruts in the soft flesh of the Draco. Like a drummer pounding a huge skin, Gorias went to work. Repetitively, the swords fell. Over and over again, like a man trying to swim the ocean, he slashed and stabbed at the dragon’s back. Not every blow fell on the wings--some were insertions to probe for guts.

  The earsplitting cry of the dragon sounded. The Draco-Lich tried to dislodge him with its tail but failed. One leg trapped in the underground chamber, the monster floundered.

  Gorias rode the creature like a wild horse, still striking down. Alas, the wings fell free and onto the ancient stone pavilion. The Draco then threw back its head enough to slap him. He tumbled off, rolling to the side, falling just beside the injured creature.

  On all fours in the pool of muck spewing from the wounded, he looked up at his enemy, and then over at the two men in white. They stood, watching placidly. Was it a trick of the sun or his addled, wounded head that made them appear to glow? Gorias looked to his left and saw the handle of the broadsword he lost earlier in the gut of the beast. Too weary to put his twin swords back, he left them on the ground and grabbed the broadsword handle with both hands. With great effort, he yanked it free.

  He stood, stumbled, looked from the struggling creature to the two glowing beings. Gorias saw the tattered remains of the translated book on demonology torn asunder in the clutter of fallen pillars. He raised the broadsword high.

  “Stop it now, La Gaul,” the Draco-Lich gurgled, trying to use its wounded hand for support but only worsening its position. “Can’t you see that you are dead already?”

  “I have just one life,” Gorias said as blood spurted heavy from his nose. With each breath, he blew out streams of crimson. “No regrets, no remorse…No mercy.”

  With shaking steps, the ancient warrior charged and leapt. He landed badly on the down-turned snout of the dragon, feeling bones in his left shin give way. The force was enough to drive the broadsword through the top of the dragon’s skull, impaling its brain. This wasn’t enough to stop the creature, for its tail curled around and swatted him. The swipe knocked him off, but his fall was halted by the right fore-claw of the Draco-Lich. It grasped Gorias tight, but with a sudden jerk it released him. He dropped only a few feet to the ground and staggered, remaining on his feet. The Draco-Lich convulsed then plummeted, limp. It went down with a wet groan and never rose up again.

  Coming up from the hole, climbing on the dragon’s still caught leg, Kayla displayed a handful of glassy shards with pride. “I did it!”

  Gorias took a breath, saying, “Just in time…” His eyes fixed on the two glowing beings, muttering faintly, “…Ezran and Gavreel, glad you could arrive just in time for the climax.”

  Then, Gorias La Gaul fell.

  On his knees, he faced the two lustrous beings, hands on a piece of rubble. He turned his back to the last dragon ever to walk the earth, staring fate in the face. The world spun, and he rested on his right side.

  Kayla scrambled, screaming wild. She grabbed the huge shoulders of the old man and turned him over to his back. The dragon had done more damage than she’d expected with its final squeeze. Gorias’ chest heaved and blood painted his thick beard in full.

  “You cannot die!” she said, shaking him as if the action of it would call him back to health.

  “Come on now, girl, you never disappointed me,” he said as her black hair matted over him. “Don’t start now.”

  Tears almost blinding her, she raised her head and shouted at the two personas of white light, “Help me! Please, I beg you both. Help him!”

  Ezran said, “Gavreel and I intend to do just that.” Yet, they made no move forward.

  She climbed on top of Gorias, trying not to put any pressure on his crushed body. She sobbed and held his head in her hands. “I love you. I always have! Can you realize how much I love you? You are everything to me. You always have been. Every dream, every hope, every moment of my life, I love you more than I can say.”

  His blue eyes flickered open, the whites colored red. He smiled a little through crimson tainted teeth. “I know, Kayla.” He coughed and his body shuddered. “You made me happy for a little while.” His hand touched her hair and felt the tears on her cheek. “For that, you’re a princess without compare…mine, always and forever.” His eyes twinkled. “My little princess, for all time.”

  With the last bit of strength in his mighty arms, Gorias pulled her closer to him. Her mouth went to his and she kissed his bloody lips.

  Kayla felt him leave. His last breath exited into her, but he wasn’t in it.

  She held him for a long time, wailing, before Ezran spoke behind her. “The time of reckoning has come.”

  She twisted about and held out the heavy dagger he gave her. “Stay away from him.”

  Both men looked at the blade. “No, thank you, we have our own.” From the backs of the men in white unfolded two sets of wings. At first, they weren’t unlike those of eagles, save for they had longer feathers and shined like steel platelets.

  Gavreel said in a voice identical to that of Ezran, “Protecting his body is admirable, but you forget what happens to the dead on this world.” The men raised their hands in unison and Gorias La Gaul’s corpse levitated into the air. “This is what he wanted and this is the deal he struck. We always keep our promises.”

  “Angels.” Kayla wiped her face. “You really are angels. Damn you both. You let him die!”

  Never acknowledging her statement, the two figures of light made Gorias float to a spot outside the rubble of the pillars. On a flat granite slab, his long body came to rest.

  Ezran gazed at Gorias and touched the top of his head with his fingertips. He then bowed down and kissed the dead man’s forehead gently. “Blessed are you, good and faithful servant. You have done well.” The two angels stood at either end of the fable of the world. They then reached to their belts. Though they held handgrips, no blades existed for their weapons. A burgundy colored flame sprang out. Gorias La Gaul was afire.

  Kayla fell to her knees. She couldn’t make more tears come.

  Gavreel’s eyes reflected the flames. “Leave this place, girl--you and your friends. There are those who will not treat you kindly if they ascertain what dwells inside you for Gorias.”

  Confused by his words, Kayla returned to the side of the dragon and retrieved Gorias’ swords. She then walked back to his body on the pyre. Gorias’ profile, though afire, seemed to wear his characteristic smirk.

  The body of the Draco-Lich began to break down. At first, the creature started to spew corpses from its stomach. In time, all that was left of the dragon amounted to several bones, a few scales, and the skinless populace of Oliverian.

  Ezran said to the weeping girl, “Gorias La Gaul sits at a place where the real heroes go. He is at rest. I shall sit and talk
with him this very day. Please, you must leave him now.”

  But as the young are want to do, she didn’t listen. Kayla saw Tammas ride up on his horse outside Larak. He dismounted and she tearfully explained what happened.

  They retreated out of the area and watched as the two angels bathed the ruins in flame via their swords, scattering the ashes of La Gaul, burning the pages of the Daemonolateria to cinders. The two beings then walked in circles around each other and became one again. Ezran Gavreel vanished.

  Tammas held Kayla and they both cried. They then sat down and talked for hours. This was a mistake.

  Several horses rode up. This never disturbed Kayla or Tammas, for the lead rider wore the dragon-plated armor of Gorias La Gaul and rode the white stallion of the fable. They knew it as part of the ruse that Maddox La Gaul wore the protective covering to trick the mercs into fighting for him.

  When this rider dismounted he pulled off his helmet and Kayla screamed. Tammas tried to arise and fight, but it was futile.

  Tolin La Gaul threw down the helmet and raised both hands. He chopped at Tammas on each shoulder, breaking each collarbone and sending the bard to the ground. He grabbed Kayla’s face, her mouth still red with Gorias’ dried blood.

  “Where is he?” Tolin raged as her hands gripped the dragon plates on his forearms. “Where is Gorias La Gaul?”

  She said nothing and he threw her down in the dust.

  He grabbed the two gleaming swords and his glare blazed as he looked at them. “Yes! These are the real thing! Not the imitations the whelp played with on the battlefield.”

  A trooper dismounted. “General, we really must meet up with the remnants of our forces. This debacle cannot be righted by traveling farther north. The barbarians will regroup and head out this way.”

  He gazed back toward Khabnur and the general grinned. “I would still make that city my wash pot, soldier. Damn them all.” Tolin then turned back and ran amongst the confounding ruins, screaming, “Where are you Gorias? Where are you? Damn it all!” He returned to face Kayla and, behind him, a small line of smoke ascended to the heavens. “Where is Gorias? He cannot escape me.”

  Tammas sobbed but stood up.

  Tolin glared at him and crossed the swords. “Get down, fool. If you are lucky, we will take you as a slave like that other young idiot in Gorias’ armor. I have a special execution awaiting him. Where is La Gaul? I sense the Draco-Lich is no more, for my flesh screams this unto my ears.”

  Tammas sang,

  “While gazing on that city, just over the narrow flood

  A band of Holy Angels came from the throne of God.

  They bore him on their wings, they bore him all the way home

  And joined him in his triumph.

  Deliverance has come.”

  With an inhuman roar, Tolin crossed the two blades again, this time removing Tammas head from his shoulders. The bard fell straight backwards, stiff legged as his heart beat its last in Larak.

  Kayla bolted and tried to make it onto the general’s horse--Gorias’ regular mount. Tolin dropped the swords and grabbed her backside. Her hands gripped the saddle and bedroll, dislodging the tiny wooden box tied on the back.

  The wooden box tumbled to the gravel, smashed and broke open. The contents spilled there for all to see.

  What looked like a puppet, near to a wooden child save for a jewel setting in its chest, rolled out. On closer inspection, the creation contained little wood, but was mostly constructed of bones.

  Tolin held Kayla’s scalp and whispered in her ear, “That is where La Gaul should be. My prisoner in this humiliating shell forever. He deprived me of my body, my dragon’s life, and caused me to live here in the flesh of a rat bastard human for all time. My reward to him would have been slavery, to be my little thrall in a box for my amusement. Now I must find another to live on in Nosmada’s fetish to his kindred.”

  She gawked at the hideous doll as Tolin started to mumble an incantation. Suddenly, the soul jewel glowed emerald and the eyes of the doll flickered open.

  Tolin laughed. “Though not Gorias, any soul just freed will suffice for now. Your headless friend will sing for me again in his new home. Soon, my master down south will realize his fetish is gone, used for my own purposes, thus, I can never return to him. Gorias…”

  “He beat you, for he escaped,” Kayla said, expecting her own death to arrive shortly. “Gorias La Gaul died as he lived--a hero. No force, no demon, no dragon, no man could stop him. Kill me if you like, but he still won.”

  Tolin raged, one hand about her neck and the other clutching her stomach. As he prepared to push her neck backwards, he paused. His nostrils flared. “Damn, I almost missed it if not for my magic. I doubt you know yourself, little bitch.” A cold smile spread over his ruthless features. “I was going to kill you and place your soul in the homunculus, instead of what I snared from the ether world a bit ago. Now, I smell a better punishment.” He held her throat but patted her belly. “I will take what Gorias has planted in your flesh and make it mine. Oh, this is even better than killing him.”

  She glowered at him as he released her. “Are you a lunatic? What do you mean?”

  Smile gone, lips peeled back, Tolin declared, “My senses and magic tell me things mortals do not know. You have conceived, girl. You carry the child of La Gaul in your self, damned little pig.” His hand slid to her chin. “And when your piglet is born, I shall have a great day of sacrifice indeed, no?”

  He cast her down. Her head hit the ground and her feet flew up. Tolin howled at the sky, cursing Gorias La Gaul. He then turned and saw the ashes flittering overhead. Tolin looked down and saw Kayla crying.

  “Put her in chains,” he ordered as he retrieved the swords. “But do not make her walk with the other slaves. No, this thrall will be on a cart and be a gilded flower indeed.”

  When the soldiers took hold of her, she stabbed the one on her left in the belly. He screamed a shrill that punctuated the coming night. She twisted away and went at Tolin with the dagger of Gorias, lashing at his exposed face. He stood his ground and sliced the swords through the air. Her right hand came off and she fell, clutching her wrist.

  Tolin told the soldiers, “Seal the wound.” He knelt by Kayla. “You do not need both hands to have a baby, slave.”

  General Tolin placed the helm of dragon skin on his head again, then climbed onto Gorias’ horse. He put down the visor and laughed.

  EPILOGUE

  *

  In the fortress of Kanoch, Nosmada watched as events north of him unfolded. Distraught, he stared into the caldron of Zillian. His disfigured brow furrowed and he turned away from the sight of Tolin at the Larak ruins.

  Zillian almost fell, yet held herself up at the edge of the caldron. When she did this, her cloak fell open, revealing her naked chest. Though Nosmada looked, he never glared at what grew there between her diminished breasts. Lannon did. The guard couldn’t help but stare at the bulging object which moved.

  “Don’t be so surprised,” Nosmada said with calmness in his voice. “You thought the old one could not sport something so common to wizards as a supernumerary teat, whereby she can suckle a familiar devil?”

  “I…” Lannon stammered. “Forgive me.”

  Nosmada smiled. “Such an easy request to forgive, no?”

  Followed closely by his servant, Nosmada exited Zillian’s chamber. He walked far to the Redemption chamber, Zillian and Lannon accompanying him.

  In the center of the chamber, he removed a circular stone disk and stared down. His corded limbs dipped into the well and confirmed what he suspected.

  “Gone,” Nosmada said. “He has stolen the last bone fragments of my brother for his peculiar purpose. Damn Tolin to Hell, and damn me for respecting my kindred’s bones until the moment of redemption drew near. It was the last bit of respect I had for him, such as he was.�
�

  From this well of despair, he roared a cry to Heaven. The sound rang ghastly and echoed out forever.

  Because of this cry, he never heard Zillian whimper or fall. He also never heard Lannon move forward and dash into the chamber.

  All the same, Nosmada’s senses weren’t so dull that he didn’t hear a weapon cutting the air. With reflexes like lightning, Nosmada sidestepped the deathblow, and gripped the wrist of Lannon. Though Lannon was a tall, thickly built guard, Nosmada controlled him as if a child attacked him. He yanked Lannon around with his arm behind his back. Nosmada disarmed him by crushing the bones in the servant’s wrist.

  “You come to kill me with a knife made of bones?” Nosmada said. “More than enough, surely, for a regular man. You come not fearing the curse of the one who kills Nosmada, I see. Great must be your faith in God.” The dark lord’s brows lowered, the disfiguring mark on his forehead rippling to reveal its full nature--a deep, black X. He whispered, “Go to your God then.”

  He rose up and smashed his forehead into the brow of Lannon. The cracking of the skull echoed, and the leeches on the walls chattered in mock-approval or glee.

  Zillian climbed to her feet, held onto the frame of the doorway as her chest heaved. “Nosmada!”

  As he dropped the body by the open disk at his feet, the dark lord glanced back at her. “Sometimes I tire of my false name, a play on backwards phrases, and the quest which I have cursed myself with.” He touched the mark on his forehead. “Ironic, no? A curse to obscure a curse? But will he really be appeased with all of this blood? That’s what he wants, correct? The first time was never enough, for I offered from the earth, so I must make it right. I must appease the Father.”

  Zillian faced Lannon, a tear dropping through the cracks in her withered face. “I fall prey to sentiment, as Lannon was my nephew and a friend.”

  Nosmada shrugged. “You are forgiven. He plotted against me and would take unto himself fame for killing me. That would follow him and be his curse. Hmm. Perhaps I should have let him slay me.”