Conqueror

by Isaac Hooke

  “So, are you going to show me?” the demon asked impatiently. “Or did you say that simply to drain me?”

  Malem focused on the portal, just like before, and willed it to enlarge. As he did so, the dark doorway grew. And grew. Malem stopped before it got too big, not wanting to let the Balor pass at the moment.

  Banvil stared at it in surprise, then erupted in a cackle once more. “Finally I find a path, but I have to rely on a puny human to open the way. The irony. The offensive irony.” Its expression became suddenly pensive. “You’ve Broken two of Vorgon’s Black Swords, two Metal Dragons, and a half gobling. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at your growing power.”

  “Is that why you came for me when I was fighting Mauritania?” he asked. “You were afraid I’d grow strong enough to beat you?”

  “I sensed that if you Broke her, you might become a force to contend with, yes,” Banvil replied. “I have watched all of your conquests. Relished in the pleasure it brought you.”

  It made sense the Balor would feel the same incredible pleasure Malem did when he Broke the half women and had sex with them thereafter, considering Banvil was the source of his power, but it also kind of creeped him out. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to have sex with anyone going forward, not while knowing Banvil was there, spying on him, sharing his pleasure.

  “Why did you bind me to you in the first place?” Malem asked. “If you were afraid of what I’d eventually become?”

  “It wasn’t intentional,” Banvil replied. “When I was drawing you into my realm all those years ago, I made the mistake of beginning to devour your mind before you had fully arrived, and so when Nailcrom’s brother intervened and set you free, a part of me remained inside of you. I’ve been trying to get back that part ever since.”

  “And what if I don’t want to give it to you?” Malem asked.

  The Balor cocked its head. “There we have the problem.”

  “I want you to stop seeking me with your dark hands,” Malem said. “You’ve seen what I can do to you if you bring me here against my will.”

  Banvil inclined its grotesque head. “Being Broken is not a pleasant experience…”

  ”I’m glad you agree,” Malem said. “Because if you bring me here again, I will Break you again. Now, in a few moments I’m going to ask you to create that portal again, to pave the way for my return. I’ll release you once I’ve passed through. But know that I plan to summon you when I return to the front lines. You’re going to battle Vorgon for me.”

  “Will I, now?” Banvil asked.

  “Yes,” Malem replied.

  “Why do you care what Vorgon does in your realm in any case?” the demon said. “You never cared about humanity before…”

  “That was before I broke five women,” he said. “They’re my family, now. And I plan to protect that family. Vorgon and his ilk aren’t welcome in any realm my family calls home.”

  “So the son of Nailcrom finally cares, how touching,” Banvil said.

  “Yes,” Malem said. “So then, you’ll beat Vorgon, and once that’s done, I’ll banish you back to this realm. That will be the last time I ever call upon you. Going forward, we shall leave each other alone in this life. Agreed?”

  The Balor didn’t respond.

  “Agreed?” Malem pressed.

  Still no answer.

  “I know you want vengeance for what the creature did to you…” Malem said. “Attacking you when you were at your weakest.”

  “And yet you would have me attack Vorgon at his strongest.” Banvil sighed, then added, grudgingly: “I will fight Vorgon for you. And when the Balor is defeated, I will leave you alone to live out your days, free of Darkness.”

  Malem smiled coldly. “Good.” He sensed no deceit from the creature’s energy bundle. “So, is there a way to summon you? I’d prefer that, than having you spying on me and opening a portal when you think the time is right.”

  “We have a permanent link, you and I,” Banvil said. “Concentrate on the Darkness inside of you… you will find it. And when you do, speak to it, and I will hear. Tell me to open a portal, and I will. But be warned… you might have me under your control now, thanks to my injuries, but know that you may lose the battle of wills next time, when I arrive fully healed.”

  “You might be fully healed to start with,” Malem said. “But when you’re done with Vorgon, I suspect I won’t have too difficult of a time asserting my will. Now, the portal, please?”

  Banvil sighed, which sounded like a great gust of wind, and then paused, as if hesitant to expend the necessary vitality required to open the portal for yet a third time.

  Then the dark doorway appeared beside Malem. He felt the significant drain on the Balor’s energy bundle, and knew it would be a while before Banvil recovered enough strength to battle Vorgon. It would need all of its remaining vitality just to heal, at this point.

  Malem was tempted to enlarge the portal and bring the Balor through with him right then, but decided the effort required to control it until the encounter with Vorgon would be too great, especially once it healed and recovered its strength.

  “Thank you,” he told the demon, and then stepped through.

  30

  Malem appeared on the dimly lit rooftop once more. He released Banvil, freeing up all of his spare slots, and the portal winked out behind him.

  “That was quick,” Xaxia commented from where she was still tied up against the parapet nearby. She was working the binds at her wrists with her teeth. “Nice bod, by the way.”

  He glanced down, suddenly aware of his nakedness. “How much time passed?”

  “Maybe a few seconds,” Xaxia said. “You were pulled into that portal, it vanished, reappeared, vanished again, only to materialize a final time, and here you are.”

  “Interesting,” he said. He went to his companions, and with his sword, began cutting their binds.

  “What happened?” Abigail asked. “Did you meet Banvil?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I Broke the Balor. I Broke Banvil.”

  He struck the cords from Abigail’s wrists and ankles.

  “You Broke a Balor?” Gwen said in awe.

  He nodded. “Barely. And he’s promised to come fight for us, against Vorgon.”

  “You can’t trust the promise of a Balor,” Xaxia said when he set her free.

  “This time, I think I can,” he said. “I had the being bound to me when it swore this oath. I detected no deceit.”

  “You forget, the Balor is the one responsible for your beast sense in the first place,” Abigail said. “It’s possible, even likely, that Banvil is able to manipulate this sense, using it against you. In fact, it may have merely been pretending to be Broken.”

  “Oh no,” he told her. “There was no pretend in what happened, believe me.” He smiled maliciously as he remembered that giant blade chopping down into the Balor’s back. “I Broke him.”

  “Well, I suppose we’ll see when you call the demon to fight for you,” Abigail said. “If Banvil sides with Vorgon, and together they ally to destroy the world, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  That was certainly a good point.

  He realized Rathamias was staring between Malem’s legs.

  “Interesting,” the black mage said. “We oraks are longer.”

  “That’s nice,” Malem said as he cut the orak free.

  Xaxia retrieved a spare robe from her pack and tossed it his way. He flung it over his back. She didn’t have a spare scabbard, so he plunged Balethorn into the cloth close to his hips, forming a small slit; he lowered the weapon gently inside until the guard caught on the fabric, and that served as his makeshift sheath.

  Malem walked toward Mauritania. He glanced at the stairwell along the way: the entrance remained blocked, still preventing Eldritch reinforcements from rushing the rooftop for the time being.

  He reached Mauritania. She lay on her back, staring up at the night sky. The sucking chest wound in her side gurgled terribly with ea
ch breath. Her inhales and exhales were ragged, shaky. She looked so very pale and was covered in a sheen of sweat.

  He granted her more vitality, taking from Gwen and Ziatrice. He expected some complaint from the half gobling or night elf, but he sensed only resignation from their energy bundles.

  Mauritania seemed to breathe easier, thanks to the stamina gift. When she noticed him, her face darkened slightly.

  “You freed me from the Balor,” she said weakly. “Only to replace that freedom with yet another form of servitude.”

  He shook his head. “I won’t keep you bound. Not for all eternity, as he would have. I ask only that you journey to the front lines with me, and fight at the side of the Alliance. I plan to slay Vorgon.”

  “Slay Vorgon?” she said. “Why didn’t you say so?” She tried to sit up, but grimaced in pain and lowered herself once more. “I’ll gladly take vengeance against my former captor.”

  An explosion rocked the rooftop, and fragments of debris erupted from the stairwell as the blockage was breached.

  Eldritch soldiers and mages rushed onto the rooftop. They ignored Goldenthall, who lingered next to the opening on his knees, a bloody wound on his forehead. A globe of light accompanied one of the mages, casting light into the shadows.

  “Call off your soldiers,” Malem commanded her.

  “Stop,” she said weakly.

  A soldier came running up to him, trident extended to strike him.

  “Your queen has ordered you to stand down!” Malem said. “Or do you wish to suffer her wrath?”

  The soldier hesitated, then lowered the trident, and took a step back.

  “Is there no healer among you?” he asked in the voice he used for command.

  An older mage came forward and knelt beside her. “My queen.”

  “Jacob,” she said. “I missed your hoary face.”

  He broke into a grin. “You’re back! Have you finally broken free of him, then?”

  “I’m free of Vorgon, yes,” she said. “Now heal me, old fool.” Those last words were spoken with the amusement of familiarity.

  While the Eldritch did his work, Malem reached out and rebound Hansel, Khaan, and Ophid. It wouldn’t do to have two basilisks and a ghrip roaming free this far east of the Midweald. He sensed great distress coming from Hansel.

  “Are you able to call off the dragon?” he asked her.

  She looked up. Some color had returned to her cheeks. “Gregor? Are you here?” Her voice was stronger.

  An older soldier rushed forward on goat feet. “I am.”

  “Blow the summoning horn,” she said. “Recall Nemertes.”

  Gregor turned to shout at another Eldritch. “Blow the summoning horn!”

  “And spread the word!” Malem called after him. “The ghrip and the two basilisks are to be left alone!”

  The Eldritch dashed down the stairs to relay the message.

  Malem gave Hansel the order to retreat. He just hoped the dragon eased off in time.

  He sensed rising levels of stress and pain emanating from Hansel, and realized Nemertes was harrying the ghrip all the way across the valley.

  A few moments later an alpenhorn reverberated loudly across the castle grounds. Three times.

  The distress issuing from the ghrip began to fade. It was still frantically trying to flee, but at least the pain had stopped.

  “It’s done,” Jacob announced, slumping.

  Malem examined her chest wound. It no longer gurgled, and her breathing was strong, steady. The tear in her dress was still present, as was the blood, but there was no sign of injury. He sensed no pain from her energy bundle, either, but she did seem just as weak, if not weaker, than before. No doubt the healing had taken a lot out of her.

  “Help me stand,” she told him.

  He gave her a hand and attempted to help her rise, but she couldn’t get up. Though she didn’t look it, she was extremely heavy. He supposed that wasn’t entirely unexpected, given her size.

  “You must rest!” Jacob said. “Healing takes a heavy toll on the body!”

  “I’m stronger than this!” Mauritania muttered.

  Malem decided to help her. Ophid and Khaan were still lying somewhere in the city below, healing, and they seemed stable. He decided to borrow some of their stamina.

  We’re laying here, dying, and you drain us, Ophid complained.

  You’ll be fine. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think otherwise.

  Ophid issued a mental sniff.

  With the added vitality, finally Mauritania was able to stand. When she did so, she towered over him imperiously. But Malem wasn’t cowed.

  She’s mine.

  “Have your healer mend my Metals,” Malem said, beckoning at Weyanna and Abigail. “And any other of my companions that require healing. But the dragons first. They were infected with a particular nasty form of Eldritch magic, one that festers, and refuses to heal naturally.”

  Mauritania smiled. “Ah yes, the Green Rot. I’m the one who developed that work. It’s quite effective against the larger monsters, such as dragons. I’ve used it on Nemertes with great success, to teach the dragon discipline.”

  “You have an odd notion of discipline,” Malem said. “Pain is best reserved for children. In adults, it will only lead to resentment in the long run.”

  “You’ve never been in the military, have you?” Mauritania said with a wicked grin.

  “Oh, I’ve had a taste,” Malem said. “Trust me, I’ve met more than my fair share of resentful soldiers. But also good ones, who were disciplined properly.”

  “I’m sure we’ll have many discussions over this,” Mauritania said. She kept her voice extremely calm, no doubt to show her men that she was unfazed by him, despite the fact he was giving her orders. Most of the Eldritch appeared confused, as if they were trying to figure out the new power structure. Some obviously had no idea what was going on.

  “I’m sure we will,” Malem agreed.

  Jacob, the old healer, went to Abigail and Weyanna next, and cured them in turn of the Eldritch magic that infected them. Malem had to give both of the women stamina borrowed from himself, Gwen, and Ziatrice, since the healing was so draining. Jacob was exhausted from the act, and couldn’t help the others, whose wounds were minor in comparison in any case.

  Though weak, Weyanna was able to assume healing duties, and mended the injuries the other party members had acquired during the battle.

  Abigail approached.

  “What about Goldenthall?” she asked Mauritania. Abigail glanced at the former king of Tartan, who had left the stairwell behind to stand listlessly next to the parapet. He was gazing down at the ruins of his city. His lips moved, as if he were talking to himself. His forehead still bled.

  “His mind is lost,” Mauritania said. “There’s nothing you can do for him. Leave him to his misery.”

  Her face writhen with grief, Abigail went to him, bringing Weyanna. Malem observed from Abigail’s viewpoint as she reached him.

  The former king didn’t look at her. “My people,” he muttered. “Must save my people.”

  “King Goldenthall. It’s me. Abigail.”

  He ignored her, continuing to murmur.

  “Weyanna?” Abigail said.

  The half white dragon released a small band of healing magic and wrapped it around the shrapnel wound in Goldenthall’s temple. The lesion healed up, but the congealing blood that had flowed onto the surrounding skin remained.

  Goldenthall paused in his mutterings, and reached up to touch a finger to his forehead. When he realized the wound had healed, he finally turned to gaze at Abigail and Weyanna. However, his expression was blank.

  “My king,” Abigail said.

  “Must save my people,” he replied.

  “They’re gone,” Abigail said gently. “All dead. Tartan has fallen.”

  He spun away from her to gaze upon the city once more. “My people. Must save my people.”

  Abigail sagged, and rested an arm upon
the parapet. For a moment he thought she would collapse, but then she straightened and returned to Malem and the others with Weyanna.

  “What did you do to him?” Abigail asked Mauritania, her voice full of venom.

  The Eldritch Queen shrugged. “Nothing, really. Seeing his city razed to the ground, and the population burned in front of his eyes was enough. Every person has a different breaking point.”

  “You promised to spare the city, didn’t you?” Abigail said. “There was no other way he would have surrendered and opened the gates to you.”

  “He sent envoys at one point, yes,” Mauritania said. “Through them, he offered himself up in exchange for his city. He wanted to give his life for the lives of his people. I agreed. But when the envoys returned through the city gates, I had an advance guard follow them through, and killed those who manned the gates, leaving the city wide open for the rest of us. I summoned Nemertes, and the true fun began.”

  “You’re an evil bitch,” Abigail said.

  Mauritania smirked. “Well that’s certainly a matter of perspective, isn’t it?”

  Abigail slapped her in the face, leaving a red handprint on her pale cheek. She had to reach fairly high to do it, because Mauritania was so much taller than her.

  Mauritania lowered her voice and spoke in a near hiss. “How dare you slap me in front of my men!”

  Streams of green mist shot out, and hoisted Abigail into the air.

  That’s enough you two, Malem sent, bringing them both in on the mental conversation.

  I have to make an example of her! Mauritania said. Or I will lose control of my men. They’ll think I’m weak.

  Go ahead and try, Abigail sent back. Did the Breaker mention I was a Metal dragon? And your healer just mended my wounds? I’ll transform and eat you if you try to make an example of me, Bitch.

  Please, Malem told them. We’re on the same side. Stand down, Mauritania. You have to learn to lead your men without using fear as a tool. Get them to respect you.

  Maybe, but it’s something I have to work into. I can’t just stop being who I am. You don’t understand what it’s like to lead a group of Eldritch men. If I show them weakness here, they’ll slay me in the night, I promise you. I’ve done too many bad things. They need to see me, their great leader, dominate a Metal dragon. They need to know I’m still in command, despite what they may have seen.