by T. A. Miles
“The lift opening,” Korsten said breathlessly, struggling to hold the weight of both of them. He had allowed the hilt end of his weapon to coil around his arm in order to assist against slipping, but the material was not endless. He could not fashion anything that would reach them further than where they were hanging.
There were ropes and chains dangling through the lift opening, however. They had not fully succumbed to the swell of the demons’ encroaching presence yet. Like an early fog, the disturbance currently hung lower in the air. But it would rise, if they waited for it. Merran had no doubt.
The nearest chain was not abysmally far, but Merran would not be able to reach it from his position. Maybe with his sword.
He unsheathed the weapon carefully, extending it toward the chain. In the moment, he thought he would have preferred Korsten’s style of blade, simply so that he could form a hook for grabbing the links.
The air shuddered, causing the chain to sway. At first, it moved away from him, but on the return, Merran managed to slide the sword behind it. Both metals tried to slip away from each other. With a hasty wrist maneuver, he managed to wrap the chain just enough to hold it in place.
Korsten’s grip was slipping from his arm, and he was beginning to rely solely on Merran’s coat sleeve for purchase.
Merran pulled the chain toward them, hooking it with his foot and lower leg. He then slid the blade through the link to the hilt, at an angle that aimed the tip downward. With his weapon secured, he took hold of the chain with his free hand, and let go of Korsten. His weight pulled various muscles while it transferred, but he compensated somewhat when he brought his other hand to the chain. It swayed and twisted with the addition of a body, but not far. While it was settling, Merran recovered his sword and sheathed it.
“Korsten,” he called across.
His partner was already working on getting to the chain himself. He began to swing. In the process, he allowed some malleability to his weapon, so that when he threw himself across, he could bring it with him. That was what Merran thought, but when Korsten flew toward the chain, he merely let the material fall. Except, it didn’t fall. It trailed after him while he was in motion. He took hold of the chain, first with his hand and arm, then with his leg, which he coiled around it while he reached out with his free hand, drawing the material to him.
The substance made a near liquid trail through the darkness, forming itself into a ball, which ultimately disappeared into Korsten’s open hand. Afterward, he began to climb the chain.
Merran followed without looking down. If the chain was corroding, he would know when he fell.
Korsten cleared the opening at the top of the shaft and swung himself onto the surface. Afterward, he stretched across and pulled the chain toward him, reaching for Merran with his other hand.
Merran took his hand when it was in reach, and together they brought him to the surface of the shaft.
The room surrounding them looked like more caves, but there was a lit corridor near. With tendrils of ash and shadow creeping upward, Korsten and Merran wasted no time getting to their feet and running to the passage. The floor shuddered underfoot, like Hell itself was cracking open its maw beneath them.
Twenty-Three
A series of loosely connected slopes and shelves had enabled Tahlia, Syndel, and Jhac to climb down from the butcher’s domain with the group of soldiers who were fit for rescue. Herrel was not among them. Their fellow priest and Syndel’s partner could only be counted as missing. Getting the soldiers to safety was the priority; there was nothing further they could do for Herrel at the moment.
The majority of the men had come around shortly after being raised from the pit that had been their prison. They recovered enough of their strength that many made the climb with no trouble. Still, some had fallen into the water and had to be brought to shore by others. With enough room to walk, it was decided that they would keep everyone on dry land for the time being. The very last thing they needed was anyone taking ill owed to chill.
The curious and merciful aspect of the entire affair was that many of the soldiers had no recollection of just what had happened. They were provided as much information as they required to get them motivated, and nothing more was said of it for the time being. It would be the Superiors’ task to explain the full of it, particularly to those who’d been infected—if anyone had. Either way, Tahlia imagined that she would see the majority of them again on the battlefield. Hopefully, the Superiors would have an answer to, and a solution for, the Vadryn style of Reach that had disabled Tahlia and her fellow priests—and put all of the soldiers into some form of hibernation. At least that would seem to suggest that none of them had been conscious to what was happening to them or around them. A dubious mercy indeed.
Tahlia stopped her mental wandering, before she thought about it too hard, knowing that among any group there were always exceptions to anything. Instead, she brought her thoughts to Merran. She dearly hoped that he had managed to find Korsten, and that Korsten had been able to hold out against the will of what may well have been an archdemon. They weren’t supposed to get into a confrontation with them—for everyone’s safety—but the circumstances had been extenuating. Even Ashwin would have to admit to that. In spite of his empathy and compassion, she knew that, of all of the elders, he was the most sensitive to recklessness amongst his charges.
But then, he had lost an early spouse to overwhelming confrontation with the Vadryn. He had lost another to internal conflict. Oddly, it was the internal problem that had cost them two priests, while the prior affair with an archdemon had gained them one. Of course, the demons had been trying to reclaim that gift since accidentally bestowing it. That seemed clear enough, given Endmark’s invitation.
Tahlia would feel satisfied if they managed to keep Korsten, and keep it present in the minds of the enemy that they had been partly to blame for his discovery. She hoped that they would know more victories like it.
When a rumble spread through the cavern, she wondered if she might have angered the gods with that thought. Of course, the gods were abandoners and could stick themselves; she owed them no more respect than they had paid the mortal world. Disaster continued to befall them. Demons continued to rise and overtake.
If the gods were dead, then they were not gods. And that could only mean that they had left of their own accord. It was a defiance she would never share with the Superiors, but she could not help the way she felt about all of it.
Still, there was no reason to test things. She said to Syndel and Jhac, “Let’s hurry out of here.”
They found a crevice that led to the surface. It was a narrow, grassy space between the walls of rock. A crack of daylight traced their path, providing at least a little optimism to the men. Tahlia’s contact with green allowed her to feel that much, and, in turn, it warmed her outlook just a bit.
When she noticed Syndel smiling at her, she gave a smile in return.
And then Jhac said, “Looks as if someone came searching for us.”
Tahlia looked across the open land beyond the base of the cliff. They must not have come out far from the broken gate, or the guardhouse and the steps that had led them into Hell’s depths the day before.
Shielding her eyes against the rising sun, she saw the shapes of several men coming across the misty meadow. By the look of them, they were Kingdom soldiers. That could only mean that the steward had decided against waiting for word from Vassenleigh on whether or not his soldiers had survived. Today was a day to be glad for defiance.
From the distance, Tahlia waved at them, then cast a Lantern to make it plain that they were allies. The men across the field quickened their pace. The soldiers nearby did as well, raising cheers as their morale and perhaps their faith in what they fought for was bolstered. They had faced the enemy differently than they intended to, but many of them had survived against odds that were stacked unnaturally against
them. It proved that the alliance of men and priests could be as effective as the alliance of men and demons. And that was precisely what they needed proved now.
It was a General Aetrix Bheld who met them, and escorted them back to a camp that had been established just in the woods across the meadow. The men had prepared to spend some time searching the area. It was fortuitous that Merran and Korsten had arrived ahead of them. It was doubtful that a unit of ordinary men, regardless of how skilled they may have been in combat, would have survived within the walls of that cavernous palace against the horrors kept within. They also might have innocently released all of their fellow soldiers, without taking into account the contamination they had undergone and carried. In that event, they might well have spread across all of Edrinor. Perhaps that had been the secondary plan. If they were encroached upon too soon, or Endmark hadn’t fallen …or if their teleportation spell hadn’t worked …maybe the enemy would have merely set the infected loose.
It was unnerving to think just how many methods there were available by which the Vadryn or Morenne had, or could give themselves, an advantage.
“An entire army was transported by spell,” General Bheld considered aloud. His tone was not of doubt, only of contemplation, a state which seemed to suit his long features. “Did Morenne even have an army on the field?”
To that question, the only answer was, “Honestly …no one remembers.”
•—•
The rough passage carried Korsten and Merran into a cellar and to more stairs. The last flight came to a door, which opened onto a kitchen. Korsten and Merran hurried across it, never minding its state of disrepair. The entrance at the other end was clear, as was a brief path to a dining hall. From there, Korsten and Merran let themselves out through a window. It was partially broken and easily cleared enough to fit through without taking excessive injury.
They pressed through overgrown flower beds, beneath sunlight that was pressing through clouds. The extended yards were in view, as the manor they had just come from had not been when they first arrived on the cliff. It had been disguised by the shrouding magic of demons; Korsten understood that now. The demons had been mimicking spells very similar to their own …at least, Leodyn had. Perhaps, without the interruption of the demon, the man would have been called to priesthood. Korsten didn’t know if there was any way to know that for certain, but he hoped that it would be information he and Merran could return to Vassenleigh.
Korsten’s legs were weakening, making him feel as if he would sink to his knees, even while in the process of running. He knew that he didn’t want to stop, but he did so anyway. He and Merran both did, when they came upon the floating green orbs of Feidor’s Crest. They hung in the air with equal menace to the first time they’d appeared. There was no rider in view, and there was no time to look for him, if he was indeed in the area. The archdemons were surfacing.
Merran urged them forward, and they set themselves moving again.
The ground continued to quake. Korsten sprinted across the grounds, aware of the immensity of the form rising behind them. He didn’t have to look to know which of them had come through the foundation of the shrouded manor first, disregarding conflict with its fellow in order to take notice of the pair escaping. Stumbling over a broken statue in the garden ruins afforded him a glimpse in spite of himself. His view was of a gargantuan and grotesquely humanoid form—as if the skin and sinew of some pale beast was stretched over the wrong skeleton of a man—charging in their direction. The thundering earth spoke only of endings, but Korsten carried on running anyway, as did Merran.
At the top of the cliffside stairs, a fleeting glance over his shoulder, showed him a lord of Hell’s depths, oblivion eyes focused as they hadn’t been when framed by a human face …until Oblivion itself appeared.
Leodyn slowed in the moment of the second demon’s arrival, twisting toward the other ancient, raising all four of its spectral arms to defend against the impending collision. Shadow and ash careened, one against the other, and the struggle of two forces from Hell’s depths resumed. Portions of the cliff broke away and tumbled down the face while their conflict continued.
Korsten and Merran flew down the stairs while the opportunity was granted. Korsten scarcely felt the steps beneath his feet. He scarcely felt anything. The sound of destruction racked his senses. At some point, his and Merran’s hands connected and, without conscious thought on Korsten’s part, he joined his partner in simply leaping from the next landing they came to. He had an instinct to cast a spell that might soften their landing or buffet away debris, but he didn’t know if he was successful. He was largely detached from the sensation of flight, the arrival of the ground, and his and Merran’s tumbling over it.
A cloud of debris and mixed darkness rushed over him, like rapids. He looked into the sky, or the depths of a great drop, and thought that he saw someone vaguely familiar. The man was in the stretched arms of a pale, antlered horror, which glided away on massive wings trailed by sheets of ashen mist.
Darkness followed, seeping across the ground beneath him, like a slow flood. He imagined falling into it, but then he jerked upward, toward consciousness.
Korsten found himself sitting upright in the field outside of Endmark. Beside him was Merran, pushing himself upright. Beyond his partner was a view of the broken cliff. One side of it was nearly completely cleaved and fallen in. Trees lay uprooted and splintered in the heap, alongside tremendous chunks of rock, and mounds of earth.
Above them, the sky was screened behind a layer of dust and moisture. The sun scattered beads of gold throughout it. And somehow, that was the end, though of what, Korsten couldn’t determine.
•—•
The sun was high, but the air still layered in filth when two familiar figures made their approach on the camp, bearing an equally familiar pair of horses. Tahlia went out to meet them, stowing her feelings of elation as much as she could, though a grin broke through anyway, at the sight of Merran and Korsten alive. After the crash of the landscape and the cloud that rushed across the land, no one knew whether to expect being pulled back into some part of Hell, or simply dying. But it had only been the heave of nature, taxed by whatever had gone on within the fortress. Everything in the area was thoroughly dusted, but that appeared to have been the extent of the affair.
By all evidence, Merran and Korsten had received far worse.
“Aren’t you two a gods’ awful mess?” Tahlia said to them.
“You were supposed to be on your way back to Vassenleigh,” Merran said on his way to the tent, achieving stoicism, even with his coat covered in a sheet of dust and his face scraped in two places.
“We happened upon General Bheld,” Tahlia told him, putting an arm briefly around Korsten when she turned to walk with him.
He showed his appreciation with a tired smile, one which was extended to Syndel and Jhac, who assisted with Erschal and Onyx when they arrived at the tent. It appeared that he might also have been looking for Herrel, so Tahlia informed him of their colleague’s missing status. Looking for him would undoubtedly be someone’s assignment, shortly after news of his fate was given to the Superiors.
Upon entering the tent, the general made immediate eye contact with Korsten.
“You were at Lilende,” the blond man said to him. While Korsten gave an affirmative nod, Bheld added, “Everyone thought you lost.”
“I found my way,” Korsten answered, finding a place to sit, which was not far from where Merran had decided to kneel for a rest himself.
Bheld indicated the ruined cliff with a glance through the tent’s opening. “What happened?”
“Morennish agents were attempting to establish a base within the cliff,” Korsten explained. “Their experiments with magic and the structure of their hidden fortress may have compromised the environment. It came down after a struggle amongst themselves.”
“Fortunate that the
two of you managed to get out,” Bheld replied. “What of Leodyn Izwendel?”
It was Merran who fielded that question. “The governor’s son was taken hostage at the start of all of this, and should be presumed dead. The governor himself is extremely ill and likely will not survive.”
“Izwendel is dead, we were told,” the general contradicted. “Plague, or worse. His body was burned.”
Korsten and Merran looked at one another, then at Tahlia.
She relayed a little more information than what Bheld had given. Though it was yet only hearsay to her—she had not gone back to town to look for herself—it seemed a plausible outcome. “It’s said the villagers set fire to the inn, after Izwendel began madly shrieking and stomping about. They must have grown too afraid to wait for us to return.”
The explanation was accepted, possibly only because her colleagues were too exhausted to debate the matter.
“Who will be in charge of this area?” Bheld asked anyone who may have known.
“A man by the name Phyodar, I believe,” Merran said. “He’s the nephew of Izwendel.”
The general took the information with little enthusiasm, but not without some sense of optimism. “Hopefully, in light of all that has happened, he’ll be joining the Kingdom Alliance.”
“Endmark doesn’t have much to it,” Merran reminded.
“Not in bodies, but in resources, perhaps,” Bheld said. It may have been talk of resources that inspired him to locate a water skin, which he offered to the pair of priests seated before him. They did not turn it down, and while Korsten accepted a drink and handed it off to Merran, the general said, “The forest is extensive, the land rich in ore. It would not be difficult to establish our own fortress and, in the process, ensure that Morenne will not attempt to utilize the remains of Endmark’s previously hidden stronghold. I think the steward and the Council would both be in support of it.”
